


Close to Home

by fourth_rose



Category: Bones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-14
Updated: 2011-06-05
Packaged: 2017-10-13 16:16:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 45,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/139225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourth_rose/pseuds/fourth_rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How are you supposed to let go of the past when the past won't let go of you?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> The events in this story are set a few months after episode 6.08 (The Twisted Bones in the Melted Truck). I began writing it before episode 6.09 (The Doctor in the Photo) aired, so the events in that episode or anything that happens later on the show did not happen in this story.

"Here's the sketch you asked for, sweetie. If you need a 3D-rendering, I'd have to -"

 

"That's fine, Angela, thank you." Brennan takes the piece of paper and gestures for Angela to take a seat. "Cam thinks she found a DNA match, so identification shouldn't be too much of a problem once she's confirmed that."

 

Angela makes a face and lowers herself into the offered chair in front of Brennan's desk. She avoids the couch these days because her protruding belly makes it impossible for her to get up from there without help. "Too bad the old guy didn't have any teeth left, huh?"

 

Brennan shrugs, her eyes on Angela's facial reconstruction. "Dental records would have been faster, yes, but I'm still confident that we'll be able to close the case quickly."

 

"Really?" Angela's eyebrows shoot up. "I know you have faith in Booth's abilities, but unless the guy had his murderer's signed confession in his pocket –"

 

"We found no evidence of foul play," Brennan cuts her off. "Once we've made the identification, we'll officially rule it an accidental death unless the victim's identity itself points towards suspicious circumstances."

 

"Easy one for a change, huh? I like it." Angela winces and shifts in her seat, causing Brennan to wonder whether the fetus is kicking her again. Angela keeps predicting that her son is destined to become the greatest soccer player of all times because he always manages to hit her bladder with pinpoint precision. "Booth will be glad to get the evening off, he's been looking tired lately."

 

Brennan keeps her face impassive. "He's been working long hours, so it stands to reason that he would be tired."

 

Angela sighs. "He's not taking it well, is he?"

 

Brennan leans back in her chair and sighs too. She has managed to avoid discussing this topic with Angela so far, but now Angela has her cornered. Brennan fights down her irritation and reminds herself that Angela, too, is Booth's friend and has a right to worry about his well-being. "If you're talking about the breakup, which I suppose you are, then he's taking it as well as can be expected. Booth did everything he could to make this relationship work, so it stands to reason that he would be unhappy about failing."

 

"Please tell me that's not what you said to him." When Brennan doesn't answer immediately, Angela sits up straighter and gives her a stern look. "Bren, sweetie, _please_ reassure me that you didn't use the word 'fail' when you two talked about this."

 

"I didn't, and neither did he," Brennan replies curtly, her irritation returning. "I was merely summarizing the situation he's in at the moment, which, objectively, is that his relationship with Hannah failed, given that she left him."

 

"Is that what he told you?"

 

Brennan hesitates. She remembers Booth's terse statement six weeks ago – "Hannah left me" – and how she thought that the wording was rather peculiar. She wouldn't have expected an alpha male like Booth to openly admit that his girlfriend had ended their relationship; most men in his situation would have tried to give the impression that they had initiated the breakup, or at least that it had been a mutual decision. She isn't sure whether she should mention that to Angela, though; she knows how carefully Booth guards his privacy and how much he resented it in the past when she shared information about his private life with third parties.

 

Thankfully, Angela doesn't wait for an answer. "Did he tell you why? I thought they were doing great, considering how little we've seen of him ever since she showed up. Was there somebody else?"

 

"I wouldn't know." Brennan is now becoming distinctly uncomfortable; she really shouldn't be talking about this.

 

Angela won't let up, though. "Didn't you ask him?"

 

"I did. He said it was none of my business."

 

Angela's jaw drops. "He _said_ that? Getting dumped sucks, but it's no excuse for being a jerk!"

 

"Ange, please." Brennan has had enough; the memory of that moment still fills her with a vague sense of embarrassment because Booth shouldn't have had to remind her that she has no right to stick her nose into his private matters. She hates that she still keeps making these mistakes, even after months of carefully rebuilding their partnership from the ruins in which her departure had left it last year. Before Hannah walked out, Brennan had allowed herself to believe that they were solid again, that the small distance that remained between them was due to nothing more than the fact that Booth was in a committed relationship now and had to keep his professional and his private life separated more clearly than before. Ever since the breakup, however, she can feel the distance growing; he's quieter and more withdrawn than she's ever known him, but also a lot quicker to lose his temper, as if the constant anger that – according to Sweets – was always there were much closer to the surface now.

 

"Sweetie." Angela leans forward as far as her belly will allow. "I'm not fishing for sordid details here. I'm worried about him. We all are."

 

"I know." Brennan doesn't want to admit that she, too, is concerned; she wishes she knew how to help him, how to be his friend without crowding him or making him feel like she's meddling, but she has never been good at these things. If it were anyone else, she'd ask Booth or Angela for advice, but neither is an option now.

 

"Just promise me you'll be there for him." Somehow, Angela seems to have understood the question Brennan was hesitant to ask. "We both know that he's one of those guys who'd chew off their own arm before they'd admit that they need help, but that doesn't mean that they really don't. You're his partner, and I think he needs a partner right now."

 

Brennan nods, although the idea that she should be the person responsible for helping Booth through this fills her with a vague sense of dread – not for her sake, but for his. "I'll do what I can."

 

She rises quickly before Angela can get another word in. "Thanks for the sketch, Ange; I'll better go see whether Mr. Nigel-Murray is finished with the remains."

 

Angela nods and starts heaving herself out of the chair. "I'll check Missing Persons for possible matches."

 

+++

 

Brennan didn't expect Booth to show up at the lab today, but when she arrives on the platform, she finds him standing next to Vincent Nigel-Murray, who is hunched over the bones on the table and babbling at his usual break-neck speed. Brennan hastens to intervene – Booth's patience wears thin even faster than usual these days, and Vincent's loquacious tendencies probably aren't helping matters.

 

She wouldn't have needed Angela's earlier remark to notice the shadows under Booth's eyes and the unhealthy grayish tinge to his skin tone. He looks like he hasn't slept properly in weeks, and she hates the feeling of helplessness that wells up inside her. If their roles were reversed, he would know what to say, what to do to make her feel better, but without his guidance she's still utterly hopeless at these things.

 

So she just acknowledges his presence with a nod and a carefully measured smile in his direction and turns towards the nervous intern next to him.

 

"Your findings, Mr. Nigel-Murray?" She casts a quick, sidelong glance at Booth's impatient expression, hoping that Vincent will get the silent message. She considers asking him to use layman's terms so she won't have to translate, but keeps her mouth shut because she doesn't want Booth to think that she's patronizing him.

 

Vincent gives her an almost imperceptible nod – perhaps she is finally getting better at non-verbal communication, or maybe Vincent just has a well-developed sense of self-preservation and doesn't want Booth to become any more irritated than he already is.

 

"As I was just telling Agent Booth, the victim is male, mid- to late sixties. There's substantial damage to the bones, but it's all post-mortem, most likely caused by environmental conditions since the body has, according to Dr. Hodgins, been in the ditch where it was found for at least five months. Dr. Saroyan's analysis of the remaining soft tissue revealed that it must have frozen solid twice during that time period, which is congruent with the micro-fractures I found on the bones. The only ante-mortem injuries I was able to find were two gunshot wounds, one to the left iliac crest and one to the upper part of the right humerus, but they both show extensive remodeling and are most likely several decades old."

 

Brennan gives the young man a nod of encouragement. "Cause of death?"

 

Before Vincent can answer, he's interrupted by the staccato of Cam's heels on the floor of the platform. She seems surprised to see Booth, but walks past him with nothing more than a cheerful "Hello, stranger!" as she steps up to Brennan and Vincent. Booth gives her a lopsided grin that disappears quickly, but Brennan is still glad to see his expression softening for a moment.

 

"Sorry to interrupt, people, I just wanted to let you know that CODIS gave us nothing, but we've got two partial DNA matches from the Armed Forces DNA Registry."

 

Booth frowns at this. "If the guy is really that old, what made you think that you'd find him in the Registry?"

 

Cam shrugs. "Just a hunch – those old gunshot wounds made me think he might be a veteran, and he could still have been in the reserve in the early nineties. Also, I haven't had a chat with Greg for ages, so I figured I might just as well give him a call."

 

"I find it remarkable that you're still good friends with several of your former romantic partners," Brennan can't help interjecting. "Most people find it difficult or even impossible to keep interacting with a person they have been intimately involved with after –" She realizes too late how spectacularly she has just put her foot in her mouth when Booth's face hardens, but Cam comes to her rescue.

 

"What can I say? I'm the world's best ex," she quips with a smirk before resuming her professional tone. "Anyway, they're not allowed to release identification information unless there's a complete match with the remains in question, but Greg promised me that he'll try to contact the partial matches and see whether they'll cooperate with us. If we're lucky, they might even save us the trouble of further DNA analysis because they've been wondering for months what happened to Uncle Archie."

 

Brennan nods. "If Angela's reconstruction" – she holds up the sheet of paper that she brought with her – "doesn't get a hit from the Missing Persons database, it's our best shot. Mr. Nigel-Murray, can I have the rest of your report now, please?"

 

Vincent has barely started speaking when Booth's cell phone rings. He glances at the display and shakes his head before answering the call. "Agent Tomlinson, I said I'd be back in an hour, can't you just once – okay, fine, patch them through." He moves away from the group around the table while he listens, and Brennan turns to Vincent as he begins talking about the cause of death, sounding a lot more relaxed now that Booth is no longer glaring at him.

 

She quickly becomes engrossed in the analysis of the victim's alcoholic osteoporosis, and is therefore badly startled when Booth is suddenly next to her and snatches Angela's sketch from her hand.

 

"Hey, what are you – " She doesn't finish her protest because he has already turned away and walks towards the farthest corner of the platform in three long strides. Brennan is about to follow him and demand an explanation when Angela comes rushing up the steps.

 

There are hectic red blotches on her cheeks, and she's completely out of breath when she comes to a halt at the table and waves a computer printout at them. "Guys, you need to hear this before – "

 

That's when she notices Booth, who is leaning against the railing with her reconstruction in his hand and his phone still at his ear, and her eyes widen in shock. "Oh my God."

 

Brennan, now thoroughly alarmed, turns from Angela to Booth and hears him say in that cold, clipped tone he only ever uses when things are really, really dire, "No, that won't be necessary."

 

He snaps the phone shut and focuses on Angela, his expression stony. "Got a hit from the Missing Persons database?"

 

Angela nods hesitantly and opens her mouth to speak, but Booth cuts her off. "Name's Joseph Henry Booth, born 1947?"

 

Angela, her eyes now filling with tears, nods again. "Reported missing by his landlord last December."

 

For a moment, there's utter silence on the platform; then Booth jams his phone into his pocket, turns around on his heel and walks away before anyone gets a chance to approach him.

 

They all stare, utterly dumbfounded, as he swipes his card and disappears from the platform. Once he's out of sight, Cam is the first to pull herself together. "What are you waiting for? Go after him!"

 

Brennan's mind is still reeling, and it takes her a second to understand that Cam is talking to her. "What? I – no, I can't …" She doesn't know how to explain the sudden surge of panic she's experiencing, but she _does_ know that she's not the person he needs now, who will find the right words to help him cope with something of that magnitude. "Cam, you've known him for so long, you know his family –"

 

"Sweetie, go." Angela places a hand on her arm, but Brennan shakes it off without even realizing it.

 

"Ange, you don't – "

 

"Dr. Brennan, you're his partner, and you are going after him _now_." Cam's tone is steely. "I have to call Greg and tell him he can stop trying to reach Jared."

 

+++

 

Brennan catches up with Booth in the Jeffersonian's parking garage. He's about to get into his car when she calls out to him, and she isn't sure whether the feeling she experiences when he turns away from the SUV to face her is relief or dread. There are so many ways in which she could make this worse –

 

"What?" He doesn't sound particularly harsh, but even she can identify the way he crosses his arms over his chest as a defensive gesture.

 

She approaches him cautiously, careful not to invade his personal space. She would love nothing more than to reach out towards him, to let a physical touch express what she's not able to convey verbally, but his stony expression makes it even clearer than his posture that he wouldn't welcome either.

 

She wants to tell him how much it hurts her to see him in pain, that he doesn't deserve another blow like this when he's already having a hard time, that she wishes she could do anything to make things easier for him. She doesn't say any of it, of course; it's not her place any more. Instead, she just says quietly, "I'm sorry, Booth, I really am."

 

He merely shrugs, although he seems to be struggling to keep his voice even when he asks, "You figured out cause of death?"

 

Brennan takes a deep breath, forcing down the reflex to take refuge in a neutral, precise scientific explanation that will go way over Booth's head and spare him the details. This man was his father; he deserves to know the truth.

 

"Cam and I agree that he froze to death last winter. Given the location where he was found, the most likely scenario is that he was on his way home from one of the nearby bars and fell into the ditch – the bones show no indication of a heavy fall, so he probably just stumbled and then rolled down to the bottom, which means he couldn't be seen from the road any more, and he was too inebriated to get out on his own. There's no evidence of foul play; it was an accident."

 

"So he died roaring drunk in a ditch?" There's a hint of disgust in Booth's tone. "Seems fitting."

 

"Booth…" She can't help it, she has to take a step closer. "I can't even imagine – I mean, I know that you loved your father even though you weren't on the best of terms and…"

 

She falls silent when his expression changes; he's suddenly averting his eyes, and it almost seems like he's about to laugh.

 

"Yeah, sure." He exhales sharply, and when he looks at her again, his face is calm. "I'm just glad that Pops didn't have to be here for this."

 

Brennan feels the heavy weight of guilt settling in the pit of her stomach. Hank died two months after Booth left for Afghanistan, and she knows that Booth will never forgive himself that he wasn't with his beloved grandfather during his last hours. Hank suffered a heart attack, but he held on to life long enough for Jared to make it to the hospital – but Booth was half a world away, and it was nobody's fault but hers.

 

Brennan blinks furiously to keep her eyes from misting over; she of all people has no right to share in his grief. All she can do is repeat "I'm sorry, Booth", even though she knows how little it means.

 

Booth shakes his head and turns away, and Brennan half expects him to get into his car and drive off without another word to her, but he just opens the door and stands behind it as if he needed something to shield himself from her. He keeps his eyes on a point somewhere above her left shoulder when he says, "It's funny, really – all those years, I've been telling myself that I love my old man even after the living hell he put us through, and now that he's dead I realize that I'm fucking glad he's gone from this world for good because I hated his guts."

 

Brennan is taken aback by the vehemence of his statement, but she does her best not to show it. "Booth, from what I know of your father, you have every right to hate him."

 

He makes a strange sound – it sounds like a half-choked laugh, but there's something to it that makes her skin crawl. She knows him too well to believe even for a second that he won't be troubled by the realization that he hated his father, no matter how much the man may have deserved his hatred. Again, she wishes she were better with people so that she could find the right words to reassure him, but nothing comes to mind, so she doesn't even try.

 

"Do you want me to notify Jared?" He gives her a look she can't interpret, so she hastily adds, "Of course, if you'd rather talk to him yourself…"

 

"No, go ahead and tell him; I doubt he'll give a damn either way." For a moment, she thinks that there's something else he wants to say, but then he climbs into his car with a hasty, "I'll better go get started on the paperwork. See you tomorrow!"

 

Brennan opens her mouth to remind him that he still needs her written report, but he has already slammed the door shut and is pulling out of his parking spot without sparing her another glance.

 

+++

 

Brennan ends up spending most of the afternoon in the bone room. The skeleton of Booth's father has been laid out on the table, and although all the necessary tests and examinations have already been done, she finds herself going over every small detail again as if it were vitally important not to miss even the tiniest bit of information that the bones might yield. The skull in particular draws her attention; she wouldn't have needed Angela's reconstruction to tell her that Booth doesn't look much like his father. The bone structure indicates strong, symmetrical features, but apart from the mandible and the prominent zygomatic, she sees little resemblance to Booth's familiar face, and she's oddly glad of that. The similarities between the skull in her hands and Jared's facial features, however, are so evident that it makes her wonder whether Booth sees his father every time he's looking at his younger brother.

 

She isn't sure how she feels about the fact that Booth was spot on with his prediction of Jared's reaction – because the only thing Jared said when she called to inform him of his father's death was "Good riddance". She can't help thinking of her own parents, of the resentment she felt when her father came back into her life, and how hard the news of her mother's death still hit her in spite of a youth spent in foster homes. It makes her wonder just how bad Booth's and Jared's childhood must have been if it made them react to their father's passing the way they did today.

 

The skeleton provides at least a partial answer to her question. The extent of alcoholic osteoporosis speaks of decades of heavy drinking that nearly destroyed what must once have been a strong, powerful body; the general bone structure of the skeleton shows a much stronger resemblance to this man's eldest son than his skull does. Brennan takes her time going over the surface of each bone in detail, paying particular attention to the right hand. She doesn't blame Vincent for overlooking the tiny, long-healed injuries that are almost invisible under the damage that the elements have done to the bones, but they're there – boxer's fractures, hairline fractures of the phalanges and the metacarpals, faded reminders of a violent past, of blows this hand has dealt out. There is some indication of minor blunt force trauma to other parts of the skeleton, meticulously listed in Vincent's report, but none of these injuries look as old as most of those to the right hand. During the earlier years of his life, this man was hitting people who couldn't, or wouldn't, hit back.

 

Brennan has always found comfort in the fact that the dead will eventually tell her their secrets, but now she's beginning to wish that she didn't see the truth about Booth's childhood reflected in his father's bones. More than ever, she hates being helpless in the face of something that causes him pain, and although the idea of interfering still fills her with trepidation, she decides she can no longer stand by and do nothing. She'll have to trust that he'll tell her if she's overstepping her boundaries again, but at least he'll know that she cared enough to try.

 

Her decision made, Brennan swiftly walks the short distance to her office to finish her report.

 

+++

 

Brennan has to knock three times before she finally hears approaching footsteps on the other side of the door. There's an uncomfortable tightness in her stomach, but she does her best to draw slow, steady breaths and keep her nerves under control. This isn't about her, after all.

 

She was hoping she'd still catch Booth at work, but when she called his office around five o'clock, she was informed that he'd gone home early. So here she is, clutching the manila folder with her finished report that provides her with an excuse to turn up at his doorstep.

 

Booth is wearing track pants and a faded FBI t-shirt when he opens the door. His hair is mussed, and there's an unnatural flush to his face. "Bones?"

 

He sounds surprised, and she can't help it that it hurts – a little more than a year ago, he would probably have _expected_ her to check on him after today's events.

 

"Hi, I just – I wanted to give you my report. I was going to bring it to your office, but they said you'd already go home, and I thought you might have taken the paperwork with you and would need my report to finish it…"

 

She's aware that she's babbling, but she feels like she has to fill the silence to keep him from closing the door in her face. Booth shrugs and accepts the folder from her without meeting her eyes.

 

"Thanks, but I don't think I'll be doing much paperwork tonight."

 

"Would you like me to help?" It sounds almost too eager to her own ears, but it's a shred of a former normalcy she's desperate to hold on to. Besides, she smells alcohol on his breath, and it's so untypical of Booth to drink alone that she can't help feeling alarmed. "I know we don't usually do the paperwork together these days, but it seems inefficient because we were always much faster…"

 

The corner of his mouth quirks up a little – it's not much of a smile, but she's still glad to see his somber expression lighten for a second. "Bones, if you want to come in, just say so."

 

He doesn't even wait for her answer, just opens the door further, and she steps over the threshold with a small sigh of relief. "I don't want to impose, but –"

 

"It's fine." He walks ahead of her to the living room and flops down heavily on the couch. "Although I should warn you that I'm probably not much fun to hang out with tonight."

 

A half-empty whisky bottle and a full shot glass are on the coffee table in front of him, and after a second's hesitation, Brennan sits on the couch next to Booth, grabs the glass and downs its contents. She doesn't believe in "liquid courage", and she's determined to stop at this one shot because she needs her wits about her, but it suddenly seems very important to keep Booth from drinking any more alcohol than he already has. She doesn't think he's really drunk yet, but she has only seen him tipsy on a few rare occasions, so she might not be the best person to determine his level of inebriation.

 

Booth raises his eyebrows at her. "Cheers, Bones. Want a refill?"

 

She shakes her head and puts the glass back on the table, well out of his reach. "It doesn't resolve anything, Booth."

 

"Don't I know it." He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, his eyes on the bottle in front of him. "Pathetic, isn't it? Especially because it's exactly what he would have done."

 

She hates hearing that tone of self-loathing in his voice, just as she hates the hunched posture that makes him look tired and defeated. Once again, she wishes for the gift of saying the right thing at the right time, but everything she can think of sounds dishonest or contrived to her own ears. At long last, she reaches over and puts her hand on his arm; she expects him to shrug it off, but at least he'll know that she's trying.

 

To her surprise, he leaves her hand where it is, and the warmth of his skin under her fingers is strangely reassuring.

 

"You're not your father, Booth."

 

"Yeah," he scoffs, "I don't have a dead wife and two abandoned kids like he did at my age, but that doesn't seem like much of an accomplishment."

 

"That's not what I meant, and you know it." She isn't sure she should comment on what he just let slip, but since he brought it up, she hopes he won't think she's prying. "You never told me that your mother is dead."

 

"She died when I was ten." Booth's eyes are still on the bottle on the table, as if he were talking to it. "She started feeling sick, doctor sent her to the hospital when it didn't get better, and three weeks later she was dead. Pancreatic cancer, or at least that's what they said." He's silent for a moment before he adds, "I always thought the truth was that she just couldn't take it anymore."

 

"I'm sorry." Brennan isn't certain whether she should encourage him to open up further or stop him from telling her things he probably would never mention while he's sober. Angela is a big believer in the therapeutic effects of talking, but she knows how careful Booth usually is with information about his past.

 

Booth doesn't seem to listen to her anyway; he keeps talking as if she weren't even in the room. There's no slur to his speech, but it still makes her wonder just _how_ drunk he really is. "I thought things were pretty bad then, but after Mom was gone – I guess she tried to make him take it all out on her so he'd leave us alone, and when she wasn't around any more…"

 

"He started beating you and your brother?" Brennan's throat closes up at the thought of a ten year-old Seeley Booth at the mercy of a violent drunk, and she tightens her hold on his arm without fully realizing it.

 

"Nah, he slapped us around since I can remember, but it started getting worse. I learned to deal with it for the most part, but Jared – he was so little, and he didn't even fully understand what it meant that Mom was gone…" Booth's voice doesn't sound quite so steady any more, and Brennan doesn't think it's the alcohol. "He used to hide under his bed when Dad came home, and Dad would get mad at him, and that terrified Jared even more –"

 

"So you made him focus on you to protect your brother," Brennan finishes for him. She remembers how she used to wonder why he would go out of his way to dig his brother out of trouble, but now she thinks she understands how they both began to take it for granted that Booth would always step in to take the fall for Jared. Even with her distaste for psychology, it's difficult not to see the root of Booth's over-protectiveness in this – he's been putting himself in the way of danger to keep his loved ones safe for so long that it has become second nature to him.

 

 _His loved ones_. Brennan quickly pushes the thought away, chiding herself for her mental slip-up. This is neither the time or the place for anything that concerns _her_ ; Booth deserves someone who's thinking only of him tonight.

 

He chuckles, even though she can't see any humor in the situation. "In a way it helped, you know? I mean, I was afraid of him too, but Jared was scared shitless, and somehow that made it easier. In the end, we managed to hang on until Pops threw Dad out."

 

"Your grandfather told you about that?" Brennan is taken aback; she remembers only too well how the old man asked _her_ to tell Booth one day.

 

Booth finally tears his gaze away from the bottle to give her a puzzled look. "He didn't have to, Bones, I was there. Pops sent us to our room before he started yelling, but he was still loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear."

 

Brennan quickly reins in her surprise before Booth notices anything, and she finds that she's glad he won't ever have to learn that his grandfather felt guilty about that day for the rest of his life. "How old were you?"

 

"Twelve, almost." There's a strange edge in Booth's voice. "Took me a while to believe that he really wasn't coming back, though."

 

Brennan can't help remembering the disappearance of her own parents, and the agonizing months during which she kept clinging to the hope that they would return. She doesn't recall when exactly she gave up hoping, but she finds that she still can't imagine how it must feel to hope that a parent who left would never come back.

 

"You know what I keep wondering?" Booth asks suddenly, startling her out of her somber musings. "I wonder what normal fathers do when they're holding their newborn kid for the first time. It's not something I wanted to ask Pops, but –"

 

"What did you do?" Brennan interrupts him, cutting to what she thinks is the heart of the matter while trying not to ponder the implications of ' _normal_ fathers'. "When you held Parker for the first time, I mean."

 

Booth gnaws at his lower lip for a while before he answers. "I made a promise."

 

Brennan isn't surprised; it seems very much like Booth that he would promise his newborn son to keep him safe, to be there for him at all times, maybe even to make the world a better place for him. "About what?"

 

Booth's hand twitches as if he'd been about to reach for the bottle and thought better of it at the last moment. "I promised him I'll take my gun and blow my brains out if I ever so much as _think_ of raising my hand against him."

 

Her fingers dig into his arm as the breath catches in her throat. This is the second time she hears him admit to suicidal thoughts, and it shocks her even more deeply than the first time did. What he told her back then in Sweets' office was a thing of the past, a mere memory of his troubled childhood, but this is different, this is something that must be with him during every moment of his life, and it terrifies her.

 

"Booth, swear to me you'll _never_ consider that even for a second! You have a son who loves you, you have people who care about you and need you, you – you are _not_ your father, Booth!" She's aware that he'll be able to hear the panic in her voice, but she's past caring. "You're a good man, and don't you dare let anyone make you believe otherwise, do you hear me?"

 

Booth makes a sound somewhere between a short laugh and a growl; then he shakes off her hand as he reaches for the bottle and takes a swig. "Yeah, right."

 

He laughs again, and it's a sound that makes her sick to her stomach. "No matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, I was never good enough for him. If he'd been around for a few years longer, I might have stopped caring, but when you're ten, you'd give your arm for your Dad telling you that he's proud of you, even if you know he's a piece of shit who drinks himself stupid and beats your Mom black and blue." He slams the bottle back on the table with enough force to leave a mark on the surface. "Then again, maybe I've been fooling myself all these years and just didn't want to admit that he had the right idea about me all along."

 

"What?" Brennan feels an irrational surge of hatred towards a man she never even met while he was alive, a man who could burden a child with his frustration about a failed life and make _Booth_ doubt his worth. "How can you even think that?"

 

Booth shrugs, but it isn't lost on her that his hands are shaking. "Need a reminder, Bones? I wasn't good enough for Rebecca, I wasn't good enough for Hannah…" He goes back to staring at the bottle on the table when he finishes, "I wasn't good enough for you."

 

Brennan freezes like a deer caught in the headlights. In all the months since they came back to DC, he has never said a word about what passed between them before they left, not even when she tried to bring it up. She never expected to have this conversation tonight, but she knows that it's crucial to make him see right now how completely he misunderstood her.

 

Fighting the familiar urge to get up and flee, Brennan is careful to look straight into his eyes when she answers. "Booth, I never thought that you weren't good enough for me. Last year, I – I said no because I believed I could never be good enough for _you_."

 

When he doesn't react, she tentatively reaches out and covers his hand with hers. "Sully asked me about this once, you know – during that first case I worked with him, he asked me why you and I weren't together."

 

Booth still keeps quiet, so she continues, "I told him that you were far too important to me to ever squander what we have on a romantic relationship. When you asked me last year – I thought back to all the failed relationships I'd had in the past, and I couldn't bear the thought that I would end up losing you if I said yes and then failed again…"

 

There's so much more she wants to make him understand about that night, and about the long, painful year that followed and changed her entire world in a way she never thought possible, but she falls silent when he slowly withdraws his hand and crosses his arms over his chest.

 

"Then why did you leave?"

 

The question seems to remain hanging in the air between them that is suddenly thick with tension. Brennan feels numb; she needs to answer, needs to fix this before it's too late, but her mind has gone strangely blank, and she finds it difficult to think clearly.

 

Then Booth looks away, and the moment is past. "You know what, don't tell me. I made Hannah tell me why she was leaving, and now I really wish I hadn't."

 

Brennan knows better than to ask, but Booth keeps talking anyway. "Funny how things worked better in the middle of a fucking war than they did back home, isn't it? But I guess I just wasn't interesting enough to make up for all the excitement she had left behind for my sake." He reaches for the bottle again, but Brennan's hand on his arm stops him.

 

"Booth, don't. _Please_."

 

She's almost surprised when he complies without looking at her. "You don't have to baby-sit me, Bones."

 

"I know," she says lightly, heartened by the lack of anger in his tone. "But you're my partner, and partners look out for each other."

 

"Sure." Instead of angry, he sounds bitter. "You know, sometimes I wish I was back there in the thick of it; at least things were clearly cut there."

 

"You don't mean that." She wishes she were as sure of that as she sounds, because it frightens her how he seems to pull back from everything that surrounds him whenever the topic of Afghanistan comes up. He isn't quite the same man who bid her good-bye at the airport a year ago; sometimes she catches a glimpse of something in his eyes that reminds her of the way he looked when they thought they were analyzing JFK's bones – like he has lost faith in something he used to build his life on.

 

" _Trapped_."

 

Brennan doesn't know what he's talking about; at her puzzled expression, he adds, "That was the word she used, you know – that's how she felt with me. She said" – she can see the muscles in his jaw working when he clenches his teeth – "that I spent my _real_ life with my partner and only took breaks from reality with her, and that wasn't exciting enough for her."

 

Brennan bites her lip and tries not to think of evenings spent alone at the lab instead of eating takeout with him while bickering over their case files, of post-case celebrations cut short because he was taking Hannah out to dinner, of meals she skipped because he didn't show up at her office to drag her to the diner. She doesn't blame him for any of it, but it hurts to think that Hannah would dismiss all those precious gifts so easily while she, Brennan, keenly felt their loss. Then she remembers the years during which _she_ took them all for granted and wonders whether she really has the right to resent Hannah for not knowing better than she did.

 

It's that last thought that gives her the courage to reach out again; she wanted to do this ever since he opened the door, but now she can't just sit by and watch him hurt any longer. He seems startled when she wraps her arm around his shoulders, but he doesn't pull away; after a moment, he even leans in a little, and Brennan feels a small, bright spark of hope flare up inside her.

 

They sit in silence for a time; at long last, Booth sighs and says morosely, "Sweets is going to have a field day with this."

 

Brennan almost feels like laughing because Booth worrying about a nosy shrink is such a reassuring shred of normalcy in the middle of this waking nightmare. "So don't tell him. He's not going to hear it from me, I promise."

 

She knows from personal experience how obsessed psychologists are with the topic of father figures, and the thought of Sweets prying into Booth's past makes her very uncomfortable. She knows that Booth likes the boy, and she does too on a personal level, but the events of the last year have made her even more skeptical than before of the possible benefits of Sweets' chosen field. Right now, she doesn't want anyone to dig around in Booth's open wounds, and she makes a mental note to ensure that nobody from the Jeffersonian tells Sweets anything about this case.

 

There's one more thing they have to deal with before they can put the matter to rest, though. "Booth, now that the case is closed, we'll release your father's remains for burial, and as his next of kin you and your brother need to decide what to do with them."

 

Booth snorts, but she can see the muscles in his jaw tensing again. "You can throw him back into the ditch where they found him for all I care."

 

Brennan isn't sure why his answer troubles her so much; perhaps it's because seeing Booth do something that flies in the face of everything he believes in makes her doubt the very foundations of the life she has built for herself, a life she can no longer imagine without him in it. Her own belief is in science and rationality, but at some point during the last years she has begun to have faith in his faith – she doesn't share his beliefs and never will, but she has come to treasure the reassuring knowledge that he will remain firm in them no matter what life throws at him. Now everything feels suddenly fragile, and she doesn't know how to deal with it – Booth has always been the one to bring stability to _her_ life, and she isn't convinced at all that she's up to the challenge of having their roles reversed.

 

"Believe me," she begins haltingly, "I can understand why you're angry and upset, but… please take some time to consider what you really want to do about this. I just – I don't want you to make any rash decisions you might regret later."

 

He seems taken aback. "What, you want me to arrange a state funeral for him? Aren't _you_ the one who believes that death rites are useless?"

 

Brennan shakes her head and remembers a small silver dolphin next to her mother's headstone. "I consider them useless for the dead, but I've come to realize that they have meaning for the living. You taught me that, Booth."

 

When he doesn't say anything, she tightens her arm around his shoulders and threads the fingers of her free hand through his. They haven't been this physically close since the Gravedigger trial, and she thinks back to those gut-wrenching days and draws strength from the determination to help him get through this just like he did for her back then. "Bury your father, Booth – not for the sake of the man he was, but for the sake of the man _you_ are."

 

He lowers his head and falls silent for a long time; when he finally looks up again, there's something so familiar in his eyes that Brennan experiences a pang of longing for the times when things were so much easier between them. "Are you going to be there?"

 

For the first time since Booth spoke his father's name on the platform, Brennan can bring herself to smile. "If you want me there, I will be."

 

+++

 

"O God, by your mercy rest is given to the souls of the faithful, be pleased to bless this grave..."

 

Brennan breathes a quiet sigh of relief as the pallbearers step away from the open grave while the priest begins reciting his prayers. During the last two weeks, she has learned more than she ever wanted to know about Catholic funeral rites, but at least it means she now recognizes the beginning of the ceremony's final part.

 

It's a bright, if unseasonably cold, spring afternoon, yet the lush vegetation all around stands in stark contrast to the scene before her. Except for the pallbearers – funeral home employees she has never met before – and the black-robed priest, she and Booth are the only people attending his father's funeral. Jared flat-out refused when she asked him to come, and Booth didn't want anyone else to know. Brennan offered to handle all the organizational details, and the fact that he let her without resistance gave her an idea of just how difficult this is for him.

 

She found the small, remote cemetery in Maryland, more than an hour's drive outside DC, after Booth wouldn't even hear of burying his father at Arlington, Vietnam veteran or not. He didn't say it outright, but Brennan thinks he doesn't want his father's grave to be anywhere near his grandfather's – or, her mind continues seemingly on its own accord, near the place where he expects to be buried himself one day. The thought distresses her more than it should; she blames it on the fact that it brings back memories of his fake funeral three years ago, but she can't help it that it makes her think of how easily he could have come home from Afghanistan in a coffin. He has never admitted to having been in danger during his deployment, but Brennan is no fool, and the realization that she could very well have ended up standing next to _his_ open grave makes her insides clench with anxiety.

 

She tries to distract herself by focusing on the priest's words, but they don't hold her interest; instead her eyes are drawn to the simple wooden cross bearing nothing but the name _Joseph H. Booth_. It isn't going to be replaced by a headstone later; Booth has made it clear that he won't spend a cent more than he absolutely has to on any of this. Brennan understands only too well that it has nothing to do with money – she knows it isn't easy for him to grant his father even the outward appearance of a proper burial, but that's as far as he'll go, and she doesn't blame him.

 

She has little experience with Catholic ceremonies, but even she can tell that the priest is rushing through the rites, and the sour expression on his face indicates his disapproval of her insistence that everything be kept to the bare minimum. It doesn't bother her – she gave her instructions according to Booth's wishes, and she saw no need to justify them to some parish priest she'll never meet again in her life. Besides, it made him keep the funeral mass mercifully short, and at the speed he's reciting his prayers now she expects him to be done with the Rite of Committal in another ten minutes.

 

Booth is gripping her hand so tightly that she has lost all feeling in her fingers. He didn't reach for her, but took her hand immediately when she held it out to him as they entered the church, and he hasn't let go ever since. She casts a sidelong glance at him as the priest starts the Lord's Prayer – she would have expected him to at least whisper the words, but his lips are pressed together into a thin line. She's exceedingly grateful when the final "Amen" signals the end of the ceremony; the priest gives her one last reproachful look and then turns to leave.

 

Booth is still standing as if rooted on the spot, his eyes fixed on some indiscernible point in the distance. Brennan remains quiet at first, assuming that he's either praying or deep in thought, but after a few minutes she's beginning to get restless, and she decides that it's time to put an end to this.

 

"Booth?"

 

He turns to face her, but doesn't reply, so she figures it's up to her to give him an out. "Is there something you – I don't know, you'd like to say before we leave?"

 

He seems startled, but then his expression shutters; he shrugs and turns back towards his father's grave. His eyes are on the coffin in the ground when he finally says, "I'll see you in hell, old man."

 

With that, he lets go of her hand and strides away.

 

Brennan stares after him, utterly dumbstruck; she recovers quickly, but he's walking so fast that he's almost at the cemetery gate when she catches up with him.

 

"Booth, _stop_!" She's more upset than she likes to admit – something is very wrong, and she needs to do something about it right now. "What was that about? How can you think you'll go to hell?" It shouldn't trouble her so much, given that she doesn't believe in the concept of hell, but hearing such a statement from Booth is deeply disturbing.

 

He laughs, that same cold, humorless laugh she has come to know and hate during the last two weeks. "Bones, do I have to remind you again of all the things I've done in my life?"

 

Brennan fights back the tears that are suddenly burning in her eyes. It's becoming more and more obvious that something has happened to him during their time apart, something that unbalanced him so completely that the foundation he's built his life on is starting to crumble, and she can't seem to find a way to get through to him and help him get his feet back on the ground.

 

At least he's looking at her, _really_ looking at her now instead of staring into the distance, and he seems surprised by seeing the distress she can't hide. "Why do you even care? You've told me a million times that you don't believe in heaven or hell."

 

She takes a deep breath and places her hands on his shoulders, suddenly desperate to hold on to him as if she expected him to disappear any moment. There's a small flicker of relief when his arms come up to loosely circle her waist; it's not really an embrace, but it seems he needs to anchor himself just as much as she does.

 

"I don't," she states firmly, "but if I did, Booth – if I believed in the concept of heaven, I would be absolutely certain that a man like you could belong nowhere else."

 

He remains quiet, but she can see the muscles in his jaw working, and his expression is an odd mixture of uncertainty and hopefulness. She can't decipher the look he gives her, but its intensity is beginning to scare her.

 

At long last, she tries to lighten the mood. "Hey, if there really is a heaven, _I_ will be the one they won't let in, and you can come out to the gate and say 'Told you so, Bones'."

 

Booth's eyebrows draw together; instead of breaking the tension, her attempt at a joke seems to have the opposite effect on him. He opens his mouth to speak, but thinks better of it; from the look on his face, he's struggling with something he doesn't know how to deal with. Brennan can only watch, both worried and utterly bewildered, how his expression finally changes into something that makes her think of a man on the run who is resigning himself to the fact that his pursuers have him cornered. His shoulders slump under her hands, and his tone is flat and strangely defeated when he finally answers, "Bones, no place where you aren't could ever be heaven to me."

 

Then he lets go of her and, breaking her hold on him, turns away to continue his way towards the gate. He doesn't look back to see whether she's following.

 

+++

 

The drive back to DC is uncomfortably quiet. Brennan is glad that she insisted they take her car, because driving gives her something to focus on besides her racing thoughts. Booth is staring out of the window; he has neither looked at her nor said a single word since they got into the car, and even though the concept is highly irrational, Brennan feels like the distance between them is growing with every mile they get closer to the city.

 

As much as it pains her, she can't help concluding that he regrets what he said to her – probably started regretting it the moment the words were out of his mouth. Still, it doesn't quite manage to suffocate the sudden, fierce upsurge of hope she experienced when she heard him say them – a hope that momentarily swept aside her usual adeptness at compartmentalization and forced her to re-acknowledge emotions she has kept firmly locked away ever since she returned from Maluku and was faced with the fact that he had indeed moved on, that she had missed her chance and wasn't going to get a second one. She didn't let herself revisit those feelings when Hannah left – he'd been hurt enough, and she certainly wasn't going to add to that when he needed her to be his friend and partner. Being there for him, helping him get past the pain and the heartbreak, has been her sole focus ever since, and even though her traitorous imagination strayed into dangerous territory on more than one occasion, it wasn't until today that she really allowed herself to hope.

 

Now, however, she feels that hope dwindling again like water seeping through her fingers; every mile they put behind them in uncomfortable, tension-filled silence strengthens her conviction that she mustn't allow herself to jeopardize their partnership, only just recovered from the impact of their long separation, because of something that Booth said in a situation of extreme stress and would probably take back if he could.

 

When she finally parks her car in front of his building, Brennan feels confident that she has regained perspective and can trust herself not to act foolishly under the influence of her convoluted emotions. Booth is too important for that, and she's determined to focus on that fact and be there for him for as long as he needs her. It doesn't quite soothe the hollow ache deep in her chest, but it's something she has learned to live with, and she's more than willing to keep putting up with it for his sake because the past months have taught her that it's a small price to pay for having Booth in her life again.

 

Booth finally breaks the silence when he realizes she's about to get out of the car with him. "Bones, thank you for – you know, for everything today, but I've got it from here."

 

There was a time when she would have accepted such an assurance without questioning it, would have assumed that she should give him the space he needs, but that was before she heard him admit to having thought of ending his own life for fear of turning into the kind of man his father had been. "Booth, I'm not leaving – I've never seen you like this, and I really don't want you to be alone right now. Partners are supposed to look out for each other, are they not?"

 

She puts emphasis on the word _partner_ for a reason, and the flicker of relief on his face tells her he understands. The only verbal reply she gets is a testy "Suit yourself", but she doesn't let that deter her from getting out of the car and following him to his apartment.

 

+++

 

Booth disappears into his bedroom as soon as they enter the apartment; she assumes he wants to change out of his formal dark suit as quickly as possible. She takes off the thin black coat she wore over her dress and gingerly sits on the couch, waiting for him to come back. It's not even dark outside yet, but she's weary to the bone, and she doesn't want to imagine the toll the last few days must have taken on Booth if they've managed to exhaust _her_ that much.

 

When Booth emerges from the bedroom, he's wearing sweatpants and a Flyers t-shirt. He stops dead when he sees her on the couch, as if he had already forgotten that she's there.

 

"Whoa."

 

Bewildered, Brennan needs a moment to understand that he isn't looking at her, but at her black dress that he didn't see before because it was hidden under her coat. "Black all over, Bones? Why didn't you wear a dark veil over your face while you were at it?"

 

She has no idea what his problem is, but she remembers what he's been through and reminds herself to be patient. "I was under the impression that black is the customary color for attending funeral rites."

 

"Right." Booth throws himself into the leather recliner next to the couch and rests his feet on the coffee table. "And yet you didn't wear black for _my_ funeral, did you?"

 

He sounds so bitter that she's momentarily speechless. She doesn't want to think back to those days, when she felt like her whole world was falling apart at the seams and she would not, _could_ not allow herself to be overwhelmed by grief. Surely Booth knows… but then it hits her that he _doesn't_ , that in the middle of the disaster that was Zack there was never a moment to tell him what it meant for her to have him back, even if she had been willing to do so.

 

"Booth, please tell me that you don't think I didn't care." She doesn't even want to ponder the possibility that he thought just that, that he spent the last three years believing that it wouldn't affect her if something happened to him. Then again, the merciless voice of rationality speaks up in her mind, what else could he possibly believe considering that she let him go to war without trying to stop him?

 

He only gives her a look instead of an answer, and she feels her stomach clench as she begins to understand just how much bitterness he must have accumulated over the course of the past few years. This isn't something she ever wanted to discuss with him, but now she realizes that he deserves to hear the truth, no matter how difficult it is for her.

 

"I cared, Booth," she begins, fretfully searching for the right words. "I cared, but I couldn't – Angela wept all the time, and I walked in on Cam crying in her office once, but I couldn't let myself grieve for you like they did. I was so angry, Booth – at you for dying, at that crazy woman who shot you, at myself for letting you take the bullet for me, even at that god you believe in for not saving you. I could handle the anger, but I don't know what it would have done to me if I'd let myself dwell on what it meant for _me_ to lose the most important person in my life…"

 

She falls silent when she realizes that she has said too much, that in her need to make him understand she has told him something he never should have heard from her. She tries to read his face, but he keeps it blank; instead of replying, he gets up and leaves the room.

 

When he reappears a moment later, it's with a bundle of clothes in his hands. "Bones, do me a favor and put these on, okay? They won't fit, but I really don't want to see you in your funeral stuff for the rest of the evening."

 

She takes the clothes from him with a relieved nod and slips into the bathroom to change. Booth has given her a pair of track pants and one of his FBI t-shirts, and although she must look rather ridiculous with the pants tied tightly around her waist to keep them from slipping down and a t-shirt that covers her down to mid-thigh, she finds that she enjoys the intimacy of wearing his clothes.

 

Booth is still in the recliner when she returns to the living room, but instead of the nonchalant posture from before, he now has his elbows on his knees and is resting his chin on his fists. Brennan pauses next to him, uncertain how to proceed, but finally the need to reassure him wins out.

 

Booth flinches ever so slightly when she places her hand on his shoulder, and after a moment he says in a carefully neutral tone, "Please don't."

 

She quickly withdraws her hand, embarrassed that she managed to misread him again, and puts a little distance between them by sitting down well away from him on the couch. "I'm sorry."

 

He shakes his head, and she's relieved that he's at least looking at her again. "Don't apologize, you did nothing wrong."

 

"Booth," she says softly because she suddenly _needs_ to be honest with him, "we both know I did pretty much everything wrong."

 

He looks away, not even bothering to pretend that he doesn't understand what she's referring to. "What's done is done, Bones."

 

Brennan bites down on the inside of her lower lip, reminding herself that she mustn't let her expression give away her emotions. Whatever vague hope she still might have harbored after what he said at the cemetery today is suddenly a thing of the past, as if he'd slammed a door shut that cuts her off forever from something that once was hers for the taking. She can't help thinking of what Rebecca told her all those years ago, of missed moments and the failure to catch fire, and she realizes again that she needs to hold on to what she has instead of jeopardizing it for the sake of elusive fantasies. She has always been a realist; it has served her well for most of her life, and it's probably for the best that she can fall back on what she knows.

 

Booth seems deep in thought; after a while, when it's becoming clear that she won't be the one to break the silence, he gives her a look of wry amusement. "What, no interrogation about my dark and troubled family history tonight?"

 

He tries to make it sound like a joke, but Brennan hears the underlying resentment. She isn't surprised; she always expected that he would regret telling her so much about his past once the effects of the alcohol had worn off.

 

"It wasn't my intention to pry, Booth."

 

"I know." He holds her gaze, but there's a slight flush to his cheeks that gives away his uneasiness. "You seemed pretty interested, though."

 

Brennan shrugs, careful to keep her tone free from any accusation. "I know very little about your family, even though I've come to know you very well in other areas, so it's logical that my attention would be drawn to the disparity."

 

Booth leans back in the recliner; his soft chuckle sounds almost like his normal laugh. "I guess you've got a point. Look, it's not like I've got any big secrets to hide – I'll tell you the rest one day if you want to know, but I don't really feel up to it tonight, okay?"

 

She nods, glad of the reassurance that she hasn't lost his trust in her. "Okay."

 

She's still searching for a safe topic of conversation when Booth suddenly says, "Tell me something, Bones."

 

Brennan frowns. "Tell you what?"

 

"I don't know – something. Anything, really." He slides lower in the recliner and rests his right ankle on his left knee. "I haven't gotten an anthropological lecture from you in days, and I guess I'm going into withdrawal."

 

She can't help smiling at this, even though she guesses that the real reason for his request is the need to take his mind off other, more serious topics. "What kind of lecture would you like?"

 

He merely shrugs. "Surprise me."

 

Brennan takes a moment to deliberate; she's never had a problem with speaking about her vast field of expertise, but she's never been asked to pick a subject at random. She doesn't want to talk about something that will go completely over his head, so she finally settles on a topic that might be at least somewhat interesting to him.

 

"The oldest known text in German is a magic spell to heal bones."

 

Booth raises his eyebrows. "Seriously? Like what, abracadabra?"

 

Brennan shakes her head. " _Bone to bone, blood to blood, joint to joint, as if they'd been glued together_ ," she recites. "It's part of the so-called Merseburg Incantations; according to the text, the Norse god Wodan used it to heal the sprained leg of a horse."

 

Booth seems to listen attentively, so she launches into a more detailed explanation and then, quickly warming up to the subject, into the general history of the text and its rediscovery in a German monastery in the 19th century. Booth listens with more patience than she's ever known him to display for "squint-speak", and after a while she can't help wondering whether he actually hears a word she says or if she's just providing him with sufficient background noise to let his thoughts wander.

 

He surprises her, though, by finally asking, "So none of this stuff would be known today if some medieval monk hadn't written it down?"

 

Brennan nods. "It's all the more remarkable because it's clearly a pagan text, yet the monk had no qualms about copying it into an otherwise Christian liturgical manuscript."

 

"Remarkable?" Booth makes a tsk-ing noise. "Are we admitting that there's something to be said for religion after all, Dr. Brennan?"

 

His attempt at a little light-hearted teasing isn't completely convincing, but Brennan is more than happy to play along. "I don't have to share someone's beliefs to appreciate their cultural accomplishments," she reminds him earnestly. "If you went to Egypt, you would probably admire the pyramids, but they wouldn't make you believe that the god Osiris judges the dead in the afterlife."

 

He cringes a little, and Brennan realizes too late that she's managed to blunder onto a topic she really shouldn't have brought up tonight. Before she can try to cover her slip-up, Booth gets up from his seat.

 

"Bones, I know it's pretty early, but I think I'm going to call it a night. See you tomorrow?"

 

"Let me stay with you." The request is out before Brennan has time to think better of it, and now it's too late to take it back.

 

Booth's jaw drops. " _What_?"

 

Brennan takes a deep breath, reminding herself to stay calm. "I can sleep on the couch, it's no problem. I just – I really don't want you to be alone after a day like today, Booth." At his doubtful look, she quickly adds, "I know you're able to get through this on your own, but having a partner should mean that you don't have to. I'm your partner, Booth, and I want to live up to what that means. Will you let me? Please?"

 

He studies her for a second, as if she were a suspect who just sat down across from him in the interrogation room. Brennan does her best to hold his gaze, and at long last he is the first to look away. His expression is unreadable, although there's a hint of annoyance in his voice when he answers curtly, "Fine; I'll get you some blankets."

 

+++

 

As soon as Brennan finds herself alone on the couch in Booth's dark living room, her earlier exhaustion is gone. She's feeling wide awake and restless, and it doesn't help that the couch is lumpy and uncomfortable and that the thick woolen blanket makes her bare legs itch. Still, she's determined to tough out the night; she isn't sure what exactly made her so worried about Booth today, and she has to admit that this might be one of the rare occasions when she's acting based on what Booth would call her gut. It has hardly ever done her any good, but tonight she's willing to take the chance.

 

She's trying to lull herself to sleep by alphabetically listing all bones in the human body when she hears the creak of Booth's bedroom door and then soft footsteps in the corridor. A moment later, a thin streak of light appears underneath the kitchen door.

 

Brennan sits up on the couch and, after a moment's hesitation, asks, "Booth?"

 

The kitchen door opens, revealing a bare-chested, bleary-eyed Booth with a glass in his hand. "I didn't mean to wake you."

 

"I wasn't sleeping yet." Brennan squints against the sudden brightness that frames him like an aura. "Are you… okay?"

 

He makes a face and holds up the glass. "It's water, Bones, I wasn't going for the whisky."

 

She feels a blush creep up her cheeks and is grateful for the semi-darkness of the living room because that _was_ her first thought when she heard him enter the kitchen. "I'm not trying to baby-sit you."

 

Booth gives her a look that's somewhere between disbelief and self-deprecation. "Right."

 

Brennan waits until she hears his bedroom door click shut before she lies down again, but sleep still eludes her. For a while, she can hear Booth puttering around in his bedroom – the walls must be made of cardboard, she thinks with a tad of annoyance because it just seems wrong that he doesn't even make enough money to afford a decent apartment in spite of the fact that his job means risking his life for the sake of others every day.

 

At long last, everything goes quiet until the only sound she can hear is the rumble of traffic outside the building, and she's glad that Booth, at least, is getting some rest – because from the way he looked today, she doesn't think he's had a decent night's sleep in a long time.

 

She's just about to drift off at last when she hears something that startles her back to wakefulness. She sits up, listening intently – there can be no doubt that the low noises are coming from Booth's bedroom. Judging by the sound, he's tossing and turning in his bed, and Brennan is instantly alarmed. The nights she spent next to him in their circus trailer have taught her that Booth is a very quiet sleeper (he once told her it's something he learned during his time in the Army); he barely even snores, and for him to trash around in his sleep is unusual enough to make her concerned.

 

After some deliberation, she gets up and silently makes her way to his door. She can still hear movement inside, so she finally pushes her unease aside and knocks. When there's no reaction, she knocks again, harder this time. There's some more creaking of bedsprings, but still no answer, and Brennan decides that he must be asleep because no matter what he might be doing in there, he would definitely react in some way if he heard her knocking on his bedroom door.

 

Feeling thoroughly ill at ease, she finally pushes the door open. She knows she shouldn't be here, but what she heard leads her to the logical conclusion that he's having a nightmare, and her memories from the nightmares _she_ used to have around the time of the Gravedigger trial are still too fresh in her mind to go back to sleep and do nothing.

 

The blinds in his bedroom are open, bathing the room in an eerie bluish light from the street lamps below. She can see at first glance that he is indeed fast asleep, but keeps moving in a manner which suggests that whatever he's dreaming can't be pleasant. Brennan knows that being startled awake from a nightmare can be disorienting and that he'll likely be both annoyed and embarrassed that she invaded his bedroom, but there's nothing for it now, so she places a hand on his upper arm and shakes him gently.

 

"Booth, it's me, Bones – you need to wake up, you're having a bad dream…"

 

His skin is clammy with sweat under her hand, and it takes him a while to calm down. Brennan is reluctant to shake him harder, so she keeps whispering in the most soothing tone she can manage, and at long last he raises his head a little and asks groggily, "…Bones?"

 

"I'm sorry," she says hurriedly, remembering too late that she should at least have put the track pants back on. "I think you were having a nightmare, Booth – I know I shouldn't have come in here without your permission, but –"

 

"S'okay," he murmurs, his words barely audible because his face is already buried in his pillow again. A few seconds later she hears his slow, even breaths and realizes he has already slipped back into sleep.

 

Brennan sits back on her heels, uncertain what to do. A part of her wants to get out of his bedroom immediately because she has no business being here, but another part is deeply uncomfortable with the thought of leaving him alone with his nightmares. There was a time when she would have shrugged it off as a trivial concern for a man with Booth's background, but that was before she woke up gasping and panicking night after night last year.

 

Still, she can't be certain that Booth is okay with her being here, considering that he was barely awake when he spoke to her a moment ago. After some careful deliberation, she decides to stay for a while to see whether he's sleeping quietly now, but to make very sure that she won't fall asleep in his bedroom because that would lead to an extremely embarrassing situation in the morning. Moving as soundlessly as possible, she walks around the bed and sits down cross-legged on the empty half. She leans back against the hard wooden headboard and resists the temptation to slide at least her feet under the covers. It's not very warm in the room, and she can already feel goosebumps rising on the bare skin of her arms and legs, but she reckons that the low temperature will help her stay awake. She settles down as much as she dares and begins her silent vigil.

 

It doesn't take long for him to get restless again, but this time her hand on his shoulder is enough to calm him. When it happens yet again a short while later, she leaves her hand there since the physical contact is obviously helping. Besides, she likes the reassuring warmth of his skin under her fingertips, and she holds on tighter because it seems like he's pulling away from her. She isn't strong enough, though; no matter how hard she tries, she can still feel him slip away from her until he's out of reach, his outline fading into the dusk that's slowly falling over the cemetery as she watches his coffin being lowered into the ground. Black-clad mourners are weeping all around her, but her insides are frozen solid, now that the warmth of his touch is gone and she's all alone in the cold darkness that engulfs her. She remembers how hot his blood felt on her skin, how the light left his eyes when he turned to walk away from her for the last time, and she reaches out once more, trying to stop him, trying to bring him back before he's gone forever –

 

" _Bones_!" His hands, strong and warm and alive, are on her shoulders, pulling her from the shadows, and Brennan opens her eyes and sees him clearly in the pale blue light, bleary-eyed and disoriented and out of breath as if he'd just been running from his own demons like she's been running from hers. She reaches for him again, but now he's _here_ , solid and real and reassuring, and she holds on with all her might before the darkness has another chance to snatch him away from her.

 

"Bones," he repeats hoarsely, his heartbeat against hers, his breath warm on her skin, and she turns into the warmth and drinks it in, wanting, _needing_ to get closer, to leave no space between them for anyone or anything to pry them apart. She hears a strange sound and doesn't know whether it came from her throat or his because his mouth is on hers, tasting like rain and spearmint gum and unshed tears and _him_. She's wide awake now, but it doesn't matter, she can believe that she's still dreaming because nothing, _nothing_ in the harsh reality of her life could ever feel like this – his touch that sets her skin on fire, his hard, smooth body under her hands, against her, on top of her until it feels like the whole world around her consists of nothing but him, holding her, touching her, thrusting inside her until she arches into him, carried by wave after wave of a searing heat that burns them both, pleasure and pain rising together and sweeping away everything in its path as it comes crashing down on them, pulling them back into the darkness.

 

+++

 

It takes Brennan a moment to get her bearings when she wakes up. The light of early morning filters through her closed eyelids; there's an arm around her shoulders and a hand on her hip, holding her close to the warm, naked body she's curled up against. As she slowly drifts towards wakefulness, she's becoming aware of little aches all over her body, yet there's a lingering sense of pleasure and peace that makes them seem immaterial. It's the calm, steady heartbeat under her palm that finally brings back the events of last night, and she goes utterly still, realizing the implications. For a fleeting second, she finds herself paralyzed by the thought that Booth might somehow have believed her to be Hannah, but then she remembers how he kept whispering her name, over and over as if he were reciting a sacred litany – _Bones, Bones, Bones…_

" _Bones_?" His whole body goes stiff as a board as he opens his eyes and looks into hers with an expression of growing horror; in the next second he's out of the bed as if burned by her touch. Hastily pulling up his sweatpants that have landed on the floor beside the bed, he stumbles to the window and leans his forehead against the glass, his hands gripping the windowsill and his breath coming in harsh gasps as if he'd been running.

 

She sits up and quickly pulls the discarded t-shirt over her head; her thoughts are racing, and her heartbeat is suddenly so loud in her own ears that she can't make out what Booth is murmuring.

 

"Booth, what –"

 

"Shut up!" His words, harsh and furious, hit her like a slap in the face, shocking her into silence. "So I'm a pity fuck to you now?"

 

Never before has he taken such a tone with her, and Brennan is out of bed and next to him before she even realizes it. " _What_?"

 

He doesn't turn away from the window; his hands are clenched into fists, but she can see that they're shaking. His voice, however, is cold and stony when he says with his back to her, "Get the hell out of here."

 

Brennan gasps, torn between the instinct to run out of the room and the urge to grab him by the shoulders, spin him around and punch him in the face. "Booth –"

 

"I asked you to leave." He's shaking all over now, and Brennan takes a deep breath, focusing on her anger instead of her hurt and confusion.

 

"Damn, Booth, look at me! I'm not leaving!"

 

He stills at that, and he sounds eerily quiet when he asks, "Isn't that what you do best?"

 

She feels her mind go blank; of all the things he could have said, he chose the one that would slice right through her anger and cut her to the core.

 

At long last, she gives the only reply she can. "I guess I deserved that."

 

"Damn straight." Brennan is suddenly glad that he still refuses to turn around and face her; it will be easier to have this discussion with his back to her than to look into his eyes and see the pain she caused. She knows with frightening clarity that she's standing on the brink of an abyss, and that another wrong step now will mean that she'll lose him for good.

 

"Booth, nothing I did last night had _anything_ to do with pity."

 

"Yeah, right." The self-deprecation is back in his tone, and it makes Brennan want to scream with frustration. "You wouldn't have me when I told you I loved you, and now that – "

 

"You never told me that." She isn't sure whether it's wise to interrupt him, but this isn't something she can let stand. "Except in an 'atta girl' way, of course."

 

He's silent for a moment, as if the reminder had taken him by surprise, but then he shrugs. "I guess it doesn't matter now anyway."

 

"Booth, you know why I –"

 

"Forget it." From the sound of it, he has found his anger again. "You know what, Bones? I could have dealt with it if you had just said no. I believed you when you said you still wanted to be partners, and I told myself I'd keep being your partner if it killed me" – she closes her eyes and thinks of a dance under the stars, of burning paper figurines and his arms around her chasing the nightmares away – "but then you walked out on me, and suddenly I found myself in the middle of a fucking war wondering if you even cared whether I'd make it back home or not."

 

Brennan bites down hard on her lower lip, focusing on the sharp pain to keep her eyes from misting over. She suddenly wishes she had some of his faith, the part that believes in atonement and the forgiving of sins, because this is one sin she will never forgive herself for. If she had been able to see past her own fears a year ago, he wouldn't have come back to her with haunted eyes and fake smiles and all that distance between them. She remembers the sleepless nights she spent worrying about roadside bombs, insurgent attacks and kidnappings, the leaden lump of panic in her stomach whenever there was talk of US casualties on the news, the slowly fading hope that he would contact her in some way to let her know that he still wanted her to talk to him – but she never even considered that he had no way of knowing any of that, that she took for granted that he would always know everything about her although it was an utterly irrational assumption.

 

She watches his hunched shoulders and stiff back, and she realizes that it's not just her who knows how it feels to be abandoned, to be left behind by those you should have been able to trust unconditionally. She remembers the first Christmas of their partnership, when Booth stopped on his way out of the Lab and turned back towards her. That's when it hits her that her father went to prison to stay close to her, while Booth never heard from his father again until his remains were found in a ditch. Nobody who left _him_ ever came back for him, so it's only natural that he won't believe that she would.

 

She takes a step closer and gently places her hand on his arm. She expects him to shrug it off, and he does, but she needs to prove to him that she won't run this time.

 

"Booth…"

 

"What do you want from me, Bones?" His tone is harsh, but there's a hint of desperation underneath that she has only heard once from him before – during that evening in front of the Hoover building, when she refused to give them a chance and he asked her why.

 

Remembering that, there's only one answer she can give him now. "A second chance."

 

He laughs, a rough, barking sound that makes her wince. "Life doesn't give you second chances, Bones. If you're lucky, it gives you second best, and you better be grateful when it does."

 

Brennan thinks of Booth's grandfather raising him after his father left, of Booth's 'cosmic balance sheet' that he keeps even though it won't take the weight of the lives he took off his conscience, of his determination to be the best weekend dad he can be for his son when all he ever wanted is a family. This time she can't bite back the tears that fill her eyes as she realizes that Booth, who would deserve true happiness more than anyone else she knows, has long ago resigned himself to the fact that second best is all he'll ever get in his life.

 

And yet, there's something she has to ask, needs to know in order to believe that he meant what he said during that fateful night when he told her, "I knew."

 

"Is that… what Hannah was?"

 

Booth whips around so fast that Brennan flinches. His face is burning, and it's impossible to tell whether it's with anger, shame, or both. "Yes, dammit! Are you happy now?" He takes a step towards her, and Brennan needs all her willpower to hold her ground because she has never seen him this furious. "Is that what you wanted to hear? That it was doomed from the start because no matter how hard I tried, she deserved better than that? That I can't even be mad at her for choosing a fucking job over me because I had it coming?"

 

He's so close now that he's towering over her, and he sounds downright menacing when he says, "I'm not going to ask again, Bones. Get. Out."

 

Choking back the sob that's rising in her throat, Brennan finally gives in and makes her way to the door. On the threshold, she turns around again and asks in the calmest tone she can muster, "I'll see you at work?"

 

Booth, who has gone back to staring out of the window, doesn't answer.

 

+++

 

Brennan has never been more grateful for the fact that they don't have a case at the moment. She spends the morning with World War One remains in Bone Storage, and the familiar routine of cataloguing and identifying proves soothing to her troubled emotions. Here, she knows what she's doing, there are no unexpected pitfalls, no danger of destroying everything with a thoughtless word or a misinterpreted gesture. She doesn't allow herself to dwell on the events of last night, before it all blew up in her face this morning – she can still feel his touch burning on her skin, but she needs to forget it, needs to focus on the here and now and find a way to repair the damage she has done to them.

 

Around noon, her hands shaking with nerves no matter how much she scolds herself for overreacting, she sends Booth a text message asking him if he wants to meet her for lunch at the diner. She doesn't really expect him to agree, but she wants, _needs_ to prove to him that she's determined to keep trying as long as there's still the slightest chance they might get over this.

 

It takes Booth almost an hour to answer, and then it's only two words, _Not hungry_.

 

Brennan swallows the lump that's forming in her throat and turns back to the remains on the table in front of her.

 

+++

 

It's late in the afternoon when she can't take it any longer. She retreats to her office and closes the blinds because she doesn't trust her self-control any more, and she doesn't want any witnesses if she should come apart at the seams. She finds herself desperately wishing for someone to talk to, someone who could tell her how to get out of this mess, but she knows that it's out of the question – Booth would never forgive her if she disclosed the events of last night to anyone. Besides, she can imagine how Angela would react to the news that she had sex with Booth, and she can't face that right now. For the first time ever she'd love to talk to Cam, because Cam knows him better than anyone else does, but this isn't just her secret to share, it's Booth's too, and he has made it abundantly clear how he feels about it. The only person she was always able to turn to, no matter what the nature of the problem was, is him, and right now it looks like he doesn't even want to talk to her any more. She has always prided herself on being self-sufficient, but now the knowledge that she's well and truly on her own feels like a lead weight on her shoulders.

 

She tries to distract herself by working on the chapter of her current book project that she started the day before the remains of Booth's father were found and hasn't touched since, but it's a lost cause. Her thoughts keep flitting back to the previous night, trying to identify the moment everything began to go wrong, attempting to comprehend how he could misunderstand her so utterly that he would believe she'd sleep with him out of pity. She remembers what he said about heaven, and how he looked like he wanted to bite his tongue afterwards, and she desperately wishes that she could just talk to him without fear of triggering another explosion, could try to explain all those things she just assumed he knew although he had no way of knowing –

 

That's when an idea hits her. She's a best-selling author, and there's no heat of the moment, no danger of letting a thoughtless or misleading comment slip if she has time to formulate her thoughts carefully and put them on paper.

 

Momentarily heartened, Brennan opens a new text file on her computer, but that's as far as she gets. It seems suddenly weird to compose a letter to Booth – she must have written him thousands of emails and text messages, but this is different, and she feels completely out of her depth. She briefly considers emailing him instead because it's more familiar, but dismisses the thought quickly. It may be irrational, but a man who loves vintage cars and Bakelite phones will understand the significance of a real paper letter instead of a message on his computer.

 

Once more going by what Booth would call her "gut", Brennan closes the file and reaches for a pen instead. The only stationery she has in her desk has the Jeffersonian logo on it, so she finally takes a few blank sheets out of her printer and, taking a deep breath, writes "Dear Booth" on top of the first page.

 

+++

 

It's almost midnight when she finally puts the pen down. Her wrist and fingers ache, and her office floor is littered with crumpled-up sheets of paper – she hasn't tried to write a complex text longhand since her college days, and it seems she has forgotten how to express herself coherently when she can't go back and edit her words. Still, after dozens of torn-up pages, crossed-out sentences and rewritten paragraphs, she feels like she has got nothing left to say, no piece of herself left to lay bare before his eyes because she has spelled out everything she needs to tell him. It goes against her nature to be completely open, to hold nothing back even though it might be painful or embarrassing, but she knows that if there's still a shred of a chance, she needs to come absolutely clean – no more hiding, no more compartmentalizing, no more assuming that he should know her well enough to read her mind.

 

She rereads the almost twenty pages filled with her handwriting as carefully as she would if they were a groundbreaking article for a prestigious scientific journal. It's all in there – she started at the beginning, with their first case together, with that kiss in the rain that affected her so much that it scared her into balking, and made her push him away and out of her life for more than a year.

 

When she gets to those passages, Brennan is struck by the realization that it was during that night that Kathy and Andy were conceived – they gave her a way to turn those confusing and very unwelcome memories into something productive and banish any lingering feelings of regret she couldn't allow herself. Looking back, she can see it so clearly that she's a little surprised she wasn't aware of it at the time; it wasn't until much later that she consciously let those two run wild where she had to tread carefully because there were lines and pitfalls and too much to lose.

 

She still isn't sure she has managed to express just how much being his partner has meant to her during the past six years, and how hard it was to reject his pleas when he asked her to become more than that. Now he'll finally know how close she came to giving in, to losing herself in him when he kissed her on the steps of the Hoover because there was a part of her who wanted to hold on to him and never let go. He'll know why she left, and how much she came to regret it later; how she filled all those lonely nights in Indonesia with thoughts of him because she missed him so desperately that it almost felt like physical pain, how the tight rein she always kept on her imagination finally slipped until she allowed herself to dream of coming back to him, _really_ coming back to him and telling him she never wanted to leave again.

 

Yet those were the easier parts to write compared to what comes after, the confession how badly she failed in her attempt to be happy for him when he returned home with Hannah, how hard it was to watch him share all those things that used to be hers with another woman, fully knowing that it was nobody's fault but her own. Each paragraph on those pages got rewritten at least three times, but upon rereading them, they still sound terribly selfish to her. Still, she decides to leave them the way they are – if she wants to be honest with him, she can't edit anything out, can't avoid the risk that he might think less of her because of what she's feeling.

 _You asked me what I want from you, Booth, and I realize that the answer I gave you was too vague to be useful, so I'm going to be more specific._

 

A nervous knot forms in the pit of her stomach as she reads through the crucial part of her letter. Her attempts to keep them safe by denying what she wanted achieved nothing but making everything they had fall apart, so she needs to be the gambler for once and put all her cards on the table. She knows what she did in those paragraphs is called playing _va banque_ , and that it will leave you either victorious or completely destroyed, but there's no middle ground any more because the truth is that she wants _everything_ – she wants _them_ back the way they were before, with time spent together, and Thai takeout at one in the morning, and workdays filled with smiles and bickering and lunches at the diner, but it doesn't stop there anymore. She was reluctant at first to share the details of the way their night together affected her – she is well used to tackling erotic topics in her writing, but this is different, this is _real_ , and with the exception of that one love scene in the book she wrote while Booth was in a coma she has never been so honest when it comes to the topic of her sexual desires. Considering his reaction in the morning, she doubts it's something he'll want to hear, but no matter how much it may embarrass him, she needs him to know that he gave her a taste of what he once told her about making love because everything she has ever experienced paled in comparison to the way he made her feel during those moments.

 

That's where the letter ends, and Brennan casts a glance at her calendar, and the red circle she drew around the upcoming Sunday many months ago. It has been on her mind a lot these past weeks, although she has never asked him whether he still remembers, whether he even still cares that they're supposed to meet at the Reflecting Pool to mark the one-year anniversary of their leaving. During her time in Maluku, the hope connected with that date shone like a beacon in her mind, and though that hope turned into ashes many months ago, she still couldn't bring herself to dismiss its significance completely.

 

Still, she needs him to know that she's not giving him an ultimatum, that this time the choice will be entirely his and that she's going to accept whatever he chooses. With that in mind, Brennan picks up the pen again and starts writing the final paragraph.

 

 _If you've read this far and are still willing to give me a chance, or at least to talk to me about everything, you know where to find me next Sunday; I will be waiting for you on our bench by the coffee cart. However, if you feel that you can't or won't do it, I promise to respect your decision. You don't need to explain yourself to me if you're uncomfortable with that – if I don't see you on Sunday, I'll accept that this is your answer, and I promise you that I'll never again bring up anything that touches upon the subjects of this letter, the events of last night, or anything else related to it. Instead, I will do everything in my power to be the best friend and partner I can be for you, and I fervently hope that you'll let me because no matter in what capacity, Booth, you still are the most important person in my life, and I don't want that to change._

 

She signs with _Bones_ , but upon rereading, she isn't entirely happy with the sound of it. She considers changing it to _Love, Bones_ , but somehow that seems too casual, a cheapening use of a word that has become too fraught with meaning between them. At long last, she settles on _Your Bones_ – it looks a little strange, and she's aware that she would once have resented the possessive implications, but it seems fitting under the circumstances.

 

She feels eerily calm when she puts the letter into an envelope and writes Booth's name on it. She doesn't bother with his address – for some reason it seems vitally important that the letter should reach him as quickly as possible, and she needs to make absolutely sure that it really reaches him because there's too much that depends on it.

 

Half an hour later, she's standing outside the front door of Booth's apartment with her heart in her throat and the letter clutched in her hand, struggling against a sudden sense of déjà vu. She saw no light behind his windows on her way up to his house, which is hardly surprising considering that it's half past one in the morning, and it suits her fine. The letter is almost too thick to fit underneath the door, but after some wiggling she manages to squeeze it in there and push it through to the other side. Then, pulling herself together, she turns to leave – she has made her move, has cast the dice, and now all she can do is wait and see how they will fall.

 

+++

 

It's a heavily overcast Sunday morning when Brennan sits down on the bench by the Reflecting Pool, a paper cup of coffee from the cart in her hand and her nerves fraying at the edges. It's too early in the day for tourists, so she's almost alone by the pool, which is exactly what she hoped for because she needs to compose herself. She hasn't heard from Booth at all since that brief answer to her text four days ago, and although it's an absurd comparison, she finds herself thinking of Schrödinger's cat while she waits for him to show up and tell her how he has decided – or to tell her about his decision by not showing up at all.

 

They never agreed on a specific time for their meeting, so Brennan is prepared to wait all day if she has to. She brought a book to pass the time, but finds that she can't concentrate while the space around her starts getting more crowded as the hours pass. She puts the book away and tries to distract herself by watching the people around her instead – tourists taking photos, children playing, a few people in business clothes who look like they're taking a break out in the open before returning to work.

 

It's early afternoon when she spots him in the distance, and it takes all her willpower not to jump up from her seat and run towards him. She focuses on her breathing, trying to will her racing heartbeat down to a slower pace as she watches him approach her. He looks like he didn't get much sleep last night, and judging from the way his jeans and his favorite black leather jacket are hanging from his frame he probably hasn't eaten much lately either. He's holding something in his hand that looks like a leather-bound book, and his expression is unreadable when he finally sits down next to her.

 

"Hi, Bones."

 

"Hi." Brennan does her best to smile at him, but she's sure that her anxiousness is written all over the face.

 

Booth gives her a piercing look. "You didn't think I'd come, did you."

 

"I wasn't sure," she admits, sticking to her decision to be honest with him. "You seemed so angry…"

 

Booth lowers his head and sighs. "Yeah, I was, but – I guess I was mostly angry at myself. I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

 

It's not really an apology, but Brennan feels a weight lift off her chest nevertheless. "It's okay, Booth."

 

They sit in silence for a while; it's not exactly uncomfortable, but Brennan still finds herself getting more nervous with every passing minute. At long last, she can't take it anymore, so she settles on a topic that seems comparatively safe and points at the book he brought. "What's that?"

 

"Pops' old photo album." Booth runs his fingers over the smooth, well-worn leather as if it were a part of his grandfather he can still reach. "Jared said Pops wanted me to have it."

 

The fact that he remembered his promise to tell her about his family suddenly seems incredibly significant, and Brennan scoots a little closer, careful not to touch him. "May I see?"

 

"Sure." He turns towards her and opens the album so that it's balanced between them on their knees. He leaves it to Brennan to turn the pages, only offering brief explanations here and there. The black-and-white photographs on the first few pages look very old, the people in them arranged in stiff, artificial postures that make it clear they were posing for a professional photographer. Brennan looks at pictures of Hank's parents and siblings (all gone now, Booth tells her, he never knew any of them except Hank's youngest brother who died nine years ago), at a photograph of Hank himself in uniform, and at his wedding picture that shows him next to a woman with thick dark hair that reminds her of Booth's. There are a few photos of Booth's father as a child and young man, and Brennan is again struck by the resemblance Jared bears to his father. Booth doesn't say much about them, and Brennan doesn't ask; instead she turns the page to find the wedding photo of Booth's parents. She feels him go completely still next to her as she focuses on his mother, a pretty, fragile-looking young woman with striking dark eyes. It's obvious from this picture that Booth inherited his father's build, but his face is entirely his mother's, and her eyes in the photo are so much like his that Brennan feels her throat close up for a moment.

 

"You look a lot like your mother." She casts a sidelong glance at him, and she can tell from his expression that it was the right thing to say. "She was already pregnant with you when they got married?"

 

She realizes too late that he might take offence at the question, but he merely nods. "Figures that you'd be able to tell. They got married six months before I was born." After a pause, he adds almost like to himself, "I've always wondered if that was the only reason why she married him."

 

Brennan bites her lip, wishing she could reassure him that it wasn't because of him that his mother ended up with a violent drunk for a husband, but she knows as well as he does that there's a good chance that it _was_.

 

"It's not your fault, Booth." It sounds lame to her own ears, but she can't think of anything more helpful to say.

 

"Yeah, I know." Judging from his expression, he isn't willing to discuss the subject further, so Brennan turns another page to change the topic. The next few pages are filled with photos of Booth and Jared as children and teenagers, and Brennan smiles as Booth groans a little at some of the more embarrassing ones – him and Jared fighting over a piece of chocolate cake with both their faces covered in frosting, Booth instructing Jared how to throw a football that's bigger than Jared's head, a teenaged Booth with this high school diploma next to his beaming grandfather, and with a basketball in one hand and a pretty blonde girl hanging from the other while his face is set in the cocky grin that Brennan has come to know so well, even if it has been a long time since she has last seen it.

 

On the last page, there are two photos of Booth and Jared, both in uniform. Brennan feels her unease returning when she looks at them – the Seeley Booth in the photo looks young and carefree, not yet weighed down by the experiences from his years in the service, and she wonders if Booth is thinking the same thing right now because he's frowning when she gives him another sidelong look.

 

Again, she decides to change the subject. "There's still room for a picture of Parker."

 

He's silent for a moment, but then he nods. "Yeah, I guess there is." He reaches into his jacket for his wallet and pulls out the photo of a four year-old Parker that he always carries with him. "He's been pestering me to get a new photo of him for my wallet anyway because he's all grown now."

 

Brennan is about to breathe easier because she thinks they've managed to avoid the topic of his Army past when he says, his eyes still on his son's picture, "They want me back, you know."

 

She feels her insides turn to ice, which stands in strange contrast to the hot spike of panic that jumbles her thoughts and makes it impossible to formulate a coherent answer. All she can think of is _No, no, oh God no_ as she stares at him, and she knows there's no way he won't be able to read it in her face.

 

Booth is looking at her as if he wanted to study her expression, while his own face is set in a mask of carefully schooled composure. It feels like an eternity until his gaze softens; his hand comes up to tuck a loose strand of hair back behind her ear, his fingertips brushing her skin with the lightest of touches.

 

"I guess I needed to see that, Bones."

 

His voice is soft, almost tender, and Brennan finds she can finally breathe again although she still feels her hands shaking. Her voice is none too steady either when she asks, "You're – you're not going?"

 

Booth shakes his head, his eyes still on hers. "Never."

 

The emphasis he puts on that single word brings back all her worries about everything the past year has done to him, but she knows this is neither the time nor the place to discuss it. The only thing that matters right now is that he's still here, and that he's not going anywhere, least of all back to war.

 

Booth gives her a moment to calm down while he closes the photo album and puts it aside, then places Parker's photo back into his wallet and shoves the wallet into his pocket. Brennan is still struggling to compose herself, so it takes her a moment to notice that he has pulled something else from the inside of his jacket instead – a bunch of folded sheets of paper covered in messy handwriting.

 

From the worn and creased look of the pages, he has not only read her letter, he has gone over it time and again, and Brennan looks past the paper in his hand to his face and tries to see any indication of what he thinks about it.

 

"That was some letter you wrote me, Bones."

 

She merely nods, realizing that she has begun to tremble again, but she's unable to stop it. He keeps looking at her in a way she has never seen before, and there's a strange edge in his tone when he asks, "Did you really mean it?"

 

Brennan nods again, not trusting her voice because she can feel a sob rising in her throat. This is torture, and she doesn't understand what he's hoping to –

 

"Does that mean you're no longer scared?" The question sounds so gentle that it calms her a little, and she finally finds her voice again, even if her answer comes out shaky.

 

"I still am," she admits, knowing that he can see it anyway. "I've made so many mistakes, and I – I'm afraid that I'll keep making them, but…" She takes a deep breath, trying to pull herself together. "Booth, whatever happens – please promise me that you won't let me ruin us."

 

He doesn't reply; instead, his eyes still on hers, he just opens his arms and says, "C'mere."

 

Brennan lets herself sink into the familiar safety of his embrace with a feeling of stunned relief. She holds on to him with all her might, and his arms tighten around her in response as if he, too, were afraid that something might tear her away from him again. It's like coming home to a place she never expected to see again, and she can no longer hold back the sob that has been trying to suffocate her since Booth mentioned that the Army wanted him back. He doesn't say anything, just pulls her even closer and lets her cry against his shoulder, and Brennan stops struggling against the tears and lets them fall until she feels able to breathe easier.

 

It isn't until she finally looks up that she notices that Booth, too, has tears in his eyes. "Bones," he whispers, his voice thick and unsteady with emotion, "you better be sure this time, because I don't know how much more of this I can take."

 

Brennan holds his gaze and wishes she knew what to say, how to reassure him that she's not going to desert him, _them_ , again, but it seems like the time for words is past. She remembers that night on the steps of the Hoover when he took a chance, and she realizes she's still the one who's gambling this time.

 

Booth freezes when she presses her lips to his; he doesn't pull back, but doesn't lean in either, and Brennan gathers all her courage and reaches up to cup the back of his head with her hands and pull him closer. She feels like she's suddenly back outside that bar in the rain, when the whole world seemed to fade away around them the moment she first felt his lips on hers, but now the sensation is no longer scary, it's precious and worth fighting for, and she's willing to fight, to prove to him she won't let go this time. His mouth opens under hers, finally letting her in, but he never takes control of the kiss, just matches her pace for pace, and Brennan keeps kissing him, slowly and unhurriedly, until she hears a young, drawling voice speak up from a distance, "Jeez, guys, get a room!"

 

Startled, Brennan pulls back and sees a teenaged boy smirk at them as he passes them by. She has no idea how to react – part of her wants to run after the boy and punch him in the nose, but at the same time she feels a peal of laughter bubbling deep in her throat, and when she looks into Booth's eyes, she sees a glimmer of amusement in them too even though his ears are red with embarrassment. She leans her forehead against his and starts to laugh, and after a moment he joins in until they both dissolve into a fit of helpless giggles, although she supposes Booth would steadfastly deny doing something as unmanly as _giggling_.

 

Booth remains quiet when they finally calm down, and for once she understands why – he has made it abundantly clear that he'll take his cues from her today. The realization should probably make her nervous again, but instead she feels strangely emboldened, and she leans in again and whispers in his ear, "Take me home and make love to me."

 

His eyes widen, and she notices how the color of his cheeks deepens, but his only answer is the question, "Your place?"

 

Brennan nods immediately; there's no way she wants to return to his apartment now, where every room is filled with memories from the past five months that she doesn't want either of them to dwell on. He hasn't set foot in her apartment since they both came back, so it seems like a much better place for a new beginning.

 

Booth gets up from the bench and offers her his hand, and Brennan takes it and walks silently next to him as they leave the Mall behind them in the direction where she supposes Booth parked his car. He doesn't ask where she left hers, and she doesn't volunteer the information that she took a taxi because a small part of her kept clinging to the hope that she would be riding back in his car even though her rational mind told her that it was unlikely.

 

They don't speak again until they reach his SUV, but there's nothing uncomfortable to the silence between them. Booth unlocks the doors, and Brennan lets go of his hand and is about to get in when he suddenly turns around and, taking a step closer, all but traps her between him and the side of the car. Bewildered, Brennan tries to ask what he's doing, but before she can get a word out, his mouth is on hers.

 

This is nothing like the tender kiss they shared by the pool, and there can be no doubt that he's determined to take charge now. The whole length of his body is pressed against her, pinning her against the car, and his lips that were so soft and gentle before are now hard and demanding. Before her rational mind has time to catch up with this unexpected turn, Brennan already finds herself responding. Her body is vibrating with desire, and she all but melts into him, reveling in his taste, his warmth, his touch; now it's her who follows his lead every step of the way as he kisses her until they both pull back gasping for breath.

 

Brennan takes in the look of him, pupils dilated and face flushed, and wonders if this is how he would have ended up kissing her on the steps of the Hoover if she hadn't stopped him. She suddenly can't wait to get home, and Booth's thoughts run along the same lines judging by how fast he gets into the car once he has closed the door behind her.

 

There seems to be something on his mind, though, because he turns to her as soon as he has maneuvered the SUV out of the parking spot. "Bones, listen, there's something I need to ask you."

 

He sounds so uncomfortable that she's instantly alarmed. "Yes?"

 

"The other night at my place, when we" – Booth gives her a quick look, his embarrassment evident – "you know, it didn't occur to me until much later that we didn't use –"

 

"Protection?" Now that she has caught on to the nature of the problem, she feels so relieved that she almost laughs. "Don't worry about it. I use hormonal contraception, and I don't have any sexually transmitted diseases either. My last full physical exam was only five months ago, when I returned from Maluku, and I haven't had intercourse for much longer than that. Aside from last Wednesday, of course."

 

That seems to reassure him, although he can still sense his discomfort. "Uh, me neither – I mean, no STDs at the time of my last physical, and Hannah always insisted on condoms."

 

Brennan frowns. "I was under the impression that wasn't the norm in established monogamous relationships."

 

From the way Booth's eyebrows draw together, she has touched upon a sensitive subject, but there's no indication of it in his tone when he replies, "She said everything else is too much of a hassle when you keep switching between time zones and staying in places with no adequate medical care."

 

"That makes sense, I suppose." Brennan isn't entirely comfortable with her answer, because the voice of rationality in her mind points out _Not if she was really planning to stay_ , but there's no need to mention that to Booth. The grateful look he gives her makes her suspect that he's been thinking the same thing anyway and is glad that she didn't bring it up.

 

She reaches over and places her hand on his thigh, and the small smile that appears on his lips at her touch chases every lingering thought about the past from her mind.

 

+++

 

Brennan takes a deep breath as she closes the door of her apartment behind her, but it's of no help. She tried to focus on the memory of their slow, sweet kiss on the bench by the pool, but other memories keep getting in the way, memories of the way he pushed her against the car, of his hands on her naked skin, of his weight pressing her into the mattress. Everything he has ever said about sex has led her to the conclusion that _making love_ means tenderness and affection to him, and as much as she wants to experience it with him, right now she feels herself burning with the desire to have him the way she had him the first time they slept together.

 

Booth seems to notice that something is amiss when she takes longer than necessary to lock the door. "Bones, everything okay there?"

 

He's obviously trying not to sound worried, but she can see how her behavior would lead him to the assumption that she's having second thoughts.

 

"I'm fine." It comes out too fast, and it isn't lost on her how he draws back a little. She doesn't blame him – he heard her say it too often to still believe it, and she remembers that the only reason they made it this far today is that she finally decided to be honest with him.

 

"Booth, listen…" She takes a step closer, reaching for him, and his arms immediately come up to wrap around her waist. "I know I said I wanted to you to make love to me, and I still do, but do you think… that it could wait a little?"

 

Now he seems concerned, which wasn't her intention at all. "Bones, we can wait as long as you want, if you aren't –"

 

"Because right now," she cuts him off while her hands go for the zipper of his jeans, "I just want you to fuck me."

 

He draws in a sharp breath that ends in a groan when she slides her hand inside his boxers and touches him boldly. In the next moment he has her caught between him and the door and kisses her breathless while his hands, in turn, start tugging at her clothes. What follows is a frenzy of touches, kisses, panting breaths and the rustling and tearing of fabric until Brennan finds herself with her back against the door and her legs wrapped around his hips. Her clothes are strewn all over the floor around them except for her skirt, which is bunched up around her waist; Booth's shirt is open and his jeans and boxers pushed down to his knees, and the heat of his skin against hers sets her nerve endings on fire as he thrusts into her in one single, hard stroke that makes her throw back her head and cry out his name.

 

Her fingernails dig into his shoulders, and she thinks how a little later she wants to map every inch of his body, wants to feel his hands, his lips on every inch of hers, but right now she just wants _this_. His face is pressed into the crook of her neck, his breath hot against her skin as she urges him to go faster, harder, and she realizes that in her mind she's chanting _mine_ , _mine_ , _mine_ with every thrust. She has never felt possessive about anyone before, but now she feels almost drunk on the knowledge that he's hers, that Booth, who will always give himself completely, has chosen to give himself to _her_ in spite of everything that has happened between them. She can feel her climax building deep within her and pushes her hips into his, taking him in as far as he'll go, and it's his answering groan that finally sends her over the edge. She feels him shudder against her as he rides out his own orgasm while she's still coming down from hers, and she leans in to kiss him again until she tastes the metallic tang of blood on her tongue.

 

She has never felt more sated in her life, but she still feels a keen sense of loss when he pulls out and slowly lets her down to stand on her own feet again. They're clutching at each other, panting and sweaty, and Brennan is glad of the door at her back because she'd probably sink to the floor otherwise even with Booth holding her.

 

He's leaning heavily against her, his eyes closed and his breath still coming in short gasps, and Brennan reaches up and wipes the sweat off his forehead. At that, he finally looks at her again, and there's something in his eyes that makes her think of the way he looked at her right after their first kiss all those years ago – a little stunned and filled with an admiration that warms her all over.

 

"Wow." It's the last thing she expected him to say, but it sounds so sincere and heartfelt that it takes her breath away.

 

She merely nods, willing the moment to last a little longer before reality sets in again, but Booth crushes that hope when he asks, his eyes still intently on hers, "What now?"

 

Brennan pauses, pondering the implications. Her thoughts fly back to _thirty, forty, maybe fifty years_ , and she wonders whether he expects anything like that from her now, a promise of forever she will never be willing to give because no human being has the power to keep it. All she has to give him is herself, one day at a time, and she can only hope it will be enough for him. With that in mind, she ignores the nervous knot that's once more forming in her stomach and asks with a saucy little smile, "Bedroom?"

 

Booth grins at that, and his answer dissolves the leaden weight of fear deep within her and replaces it with a sudden, brilliant spark of hope. "Sounds good to me."

 

 


	2. Part 2

Coming home to Bones' empty apartment still feels strange. She gave him the key weeks ago, yet he always feels like an intruder when he unlocks her door instead of waiting for her to open it. She told him she'd be late, though, and tonight's hockey practice left him tired and sore, so he tries not to overthink things when he flops down on her couch and rests his aching feet on the coffee table. His stomach is growling, but she promised to bring takeout for both of them, so he's determined to wait for her.

 

Booth is well aware that a part of him still expects to wake up any moment and realize that the last weeks were nothing but a rather bizarre dream. Out of pure habit, his hand reaches for the reassuring wad of paper in his pocket before his rational mind catches up and reminds him that the letter is in the jacket he just took off. He's begun carrying it with him like a talisman wherever he goes; it may be a little pathetic, but he needs the physical reminder that there's a side to Temperance Brennan he'd never even guessed at.

 

And yet, no matter how often he rereads those pages that turned his world upside down two months ago, he still can't fully convince himself it's all real. It's not that he doesn't believe her, but he knows her well enough to understand how her mind works, and the nagging fear that he's fooling himself _again_ has become his ever-present companion.

 

He has never told her that, of course, and neither is he ever going to tell her how close he came to not showing up for that meeting at the Reflecting Pool – not when she's so visibly trying to get everything "right", to make it one hundred percent clear that she's serious about… this, whatever it is they're having at the moment.

 

 _Your father and I are partners, Parker_. That's what she told his son when he asked her if she was Dad's girlfriend now, that afternoon when the three of them went swimming in her pool for the first time in more than a year. She says she doesn't approve of the term "girlfriend", that she likes the idea they've expanded their partnership beyond the realm of the professional and are now partners in all aspects of their lives. He can live with that; not that it really matters at the moment because nobody knows yet that they're together. Bones was the one to suggest that there should be a period of adjustment for both of them before they tell anyone, and Booth was quick to agree – the thought of having Sweets or Angela nosing around while everything still feels so new and fragile is unsettling, to say the least, and he's more than happy to keep things under wraps at the moment. So "partners" it is, and until now no one has noticed that there's no _just_ preceding the term these days.

 

And God, is she trying. He knows that the smart thing would be to hold back a little, to see if things really work out before he lets himself get fully involved, but even though he knows he's giving her the power to tear his heart to shreds for good this time, there's no holding back when he sees her reach out to him whenever she can. During those times when he still allowed himself to dream of being with her, he always imagined that he'd be the one to give her guidance in relationship matters if he and Bones ever got together. Now he finds himself leaning on _her_ whenever the too-familiar doubts are closing in again, and even though she never says so, she seems determined to make sure he can keep believing in the things he used to have faith in. He appreciates the effort, but it makes him feel even more out of sorts than he already is – he hates not being able to trust his instincts any longer, but if the past year has taught him anything, it's that his instincts aren't worth a damn these days when it comes to his own life.

 

With a sigh, Booth looks around for the remote to distract himself with the sports channel before he slips into another round of pointless brooding (he's done enough of that lately to last him a lifetime), but that's when he hears a key turning in the lock of the front door, and he scrambles up from the couch and goes to greet Bones as she rushes in with a cheerful, "Booth, I'm home!" He can already feel his spirits rising – it's a small, daily miracle that in spite of doubts and fears and worries, her presence never fails to brighten his mood, and when she kisses him lightly and simultaneously pushes the two greasy pizza boxes she was carrying into his hands, the feeling of normalcy settles around him like a warm blanket. Perhaps it's just the fact that they've spent their evenings eating takeout together for years, but even though they're not living together, there's a familiar, almost domestic feel to these moments when they're coming home to each other. It's something he never quite achieved with Hannah, because deep down he always felt a little like a teenager who has his girlfriend staying over when his parents are away and knows he has to make the most of it while it lasts.

 

Booth resolutely pushes the thought away; Hannah is high on the list of topics he _really_ doesn't want to dwell on these days. He puts the pizza boxes on the dining table and helps Bones out of her jacket, cheerfully ignoring the eyeroll that his attempts at chivalry always earn him. "I missed you at lunch."

 

She gives him an apologetic smile and leans in to kiss him again, deeper this time. "I'm sorry I couldn't make it. How was your practice?"

 

Booth winces a little. "The boys gave me hell in the locker room when they noticed the souvenirs you left on me last night."

 

As he expected, Bones remains unfazed. "Considering how much pride men take in their sexual conquests, I doubt you minded very much."

 

He curses himself for the blush he can feel creep up his cheeks at the memory of the ribbing he took – it was all good-natured and more than a little envious, sure, but he still doesn't like the fact that his buddies now think that he's started fucking around the moment his girlfriend was out of the door. "Bones, you're not a 'conquest', okay? And it's not like I can explain to them why I'm walking around with do-me-harder scratches all over my back and shoulders."

 

The grin she flashes him in reply is downright dirty, and he can't help it that it goes directly to his nether regions. "I doubt that your friends required an explanation, Booth. – Just let me go change, then we can eat, okay?"

 

With that, she disappears into the bedroom, leaving Booth torn between the need for a cold shower and the urge to follow her and make sure they don't get out of bed again for quite some time. He leans against the wall and takes a deep breath, trying to get a grip on himself. In spite of what Bones used to think of him, he's never been prudish in his relationships, but sleeping with Bones is different from anything he's ever experienced in that regard. He's always been attracted to self-confident, energetic women – Cam was a firecracker in bed, and it seems in retrospect like sex was the one thing that really worked between him and Hannah, but ever since he first started dating in High School, he has held on to the belief that treating women with respect also means keeping in mind that they're physically weaker and always the more vulnerable partner. Then, later, when he began to realize the full extent of the damage he was capable of doing, he became even warier of letting any of it invade his love life, and he made sure to keep things gentle and playful in the bedroom because he knew only too well what could happen if he ever forgot himself.

 

He's done it for so long now that it has become second nature to him, and it's more than a little unsettling that Bones will have none of it. He still can't think of their first night together without the sharp sting of guilt and shame, but it seems to have become some kind of standard for her because she's been hell-bent on making him lose control ever since. The truly disturbing thing is that it's working only too well; there's a part of him that clearly enjoys the new freedom of letting himself go completely and is only too eager to give in to the temptation. He isn't likely to forget the first time he saw finger-shaped bruises on her fair skin the morning after – he was so horrified that he couldn't even look her in the eyes, but she laughed it off and pointed out the scratches and bite marks she left on him. There can be no doubt that Bones gives as good as she gets, but he still doesn't know what to do with the fact that she's encouraging him where she should stop him. She knows him better than he's sometimes comfortable with, has gotten more than one glimpse of his darker side – the one that kills and maims, that fucks women instead of making love to them, that's everything he's been struggling so hard to keep hidden whenever it threatened to bubble to the surface, and yet it doesn't frighten or disgust her, on the contrary, it's clearly turning her on.

 

Afghanistan was the first harsh reminder that the man he thought he left behind long ago is still a part of him, no matter how much he tried to lose himself in Hannah's arms whenever it got too much, but this is almost worse, because now he isn't even trying to resist any more. He can't help it that his thoughts wander back a few weeks to that drive home from an arrest that went south, when Bones insisted on coming with him and almost ended up taking a bullet for him. He started yelling at her the moment they were alone, and they kept fighting on the way back until she suddenly told him to pull over on a deserted road in the middle of nowhere and jumped out of the car. By the time he'd gotten out as well, she had pulled down her jeans and panties, and when he just stood there gaping at her, she bent over the hood and told him through clenched teeth, " _Right now_ , before I kill you." He isn't sure what kind of man it makes him that he didn't even consider telling her no, but there's no denying the dozens of times he has jerked off to the memory of that moment. He doesn't know whether the things they're doing to each other can still be considered healthy or even normal, but he _does_ know that she's gotten him addicted.

 

And yet, there are times when she's so tender and affectionate that just going along with it makes him feel like the world's greatest sap, especially because there can be no doubt that he's enjoying it. She never sits beside him on the couch without snuggling up to him, keeps her hand on his thigh when they're alone in his car, and more than once she has played footsie with him under the table when they were having lunch together at the diner. No matter how rough things get when they're having sex, she'll curl up in his arms like a tired kitten afterwards, and he'll fall asleep to the feeling of her hand lazily stroking his skin that still bears the marks of her nails from earlier. Booth doesn't think he'll ever forget the first night he spent in her bed – he was ready to collapse on the spot after that romp against her front door, but just when he was about to drift off after they'd finally made it into the bedroom, she bent over him and began _studying_ him. He was a little weirded out because it made him feel like the bones on her table, but there was something incredibly intimate in the way she focused her entire attention on him, as if she were slowly and carefully exploring every part of his body until it yielded all its secrets to her.

 

"Booth?" Her voice pulls him out of the memory, and he realizes belatedly that she has reappeared from the bedroom. She's wearing grey yoga pants and one of his Flyers t-shirts that hangs loosely around her, but still doesn't conceal the fact that she's wearing no bra underneath, and Booth immediately feels his mouth go dry. She notices, too, because she gives him a little wink before she disappears into the kitchen; by now she knows only too well what the sight of her breasts moving freely under _his_ clothes does to him. Booth is well aware that he's had a bit of a fixation with her breasts for a long time, but he figures that she really can't blame a guy for noticing that kind of rack when he's constantly around it. He still has fond memories of the dress she wore for that Egyptian exhibit, especially since he ended up standing close enough to her to look directly down her generous cleavage. She has begun teasing him that he only reminds her to eat because he wants to fatten her up, and if he's totally honest with himself, Booth has to admit that he wouldn't mind at all if she put on a few extra pounds, considering how much he loves the feeling of her lush curves under his hands.

 

He follows her to the kitchen, but remains standing under the arch that separates it from the dining area. She's bent over the green peppers she's chopping, and Booth grins at the realization that she's still determined to make him eat healthier. "I could have fixed the salad while I was waiting for you."

 

She gives him a wry look over her shoulder. "I've seen what you call salad – it's usually half a gallon of dressing with a few green leaves drowning in it."

 

"Hey, I've gotten no complaints about my salads before," he shoots back with mock indignation. "What kind of pizza did you get?"

 

"Spinach and feta cheese for me, mushrooms and ham for you."

 

Booth makes a face. "You know, spinach on a pizza is just wrong."

 

She playfully waves the knife at him. "Watch it, or I'll get spinach for both of us next time."

 

"Way to make a guy lose his appetite, Bones." His heart isn't in the protest, though; standing there watching her makes him itch to walk up behind her and wrap his arms around her waist, but he knows better than to give in to the impulse. He still remembers only too well how Hannah used to scold him for what she called his "clingy act", and he couldn't very well tell her that he kept touching her because he wanted to make sure of the connection between them that never seemed quite real when they were apart. Bones isn't Hannah, but she's still the woman who used to freak out at the mere thought of letting anyone get too close, so he figures that he should keep himself in check and let her call the shots before he manages to frighten her into pulling back. It's a precarious balance, because he doesn't want her to think he's distant, either, but thankfully she saves him from worrying about it further.

 

"Why are you just standing there, Booth? Are you waiting for a printed invitation?"

 

" _Engraved_ invitation, Bones," he corrects with a chuckle and a profound feeling of relief. She leans into him when his arms encircle her waist and turns her head to the side so that the kiss that was intended for her cheek ends up on the corner of her mouth.

 

"Hi."

 

"Hi to you, too." Booth tightens his arms around her and breathes in the familiar scent of her shampoo. It's one of those precious moments when there's no more need to think, to worry, to be prepared for all eventualities because he just feels happy, and everything seems easy for a little while. They can never last long, not with the kind of lives they're both leading, but it's during these moments that he can truly believe they are going to make it. He remembers that first, blinding flash of pure happiness when he watched Bones toweling Parker's hair until the little boy shrieked with laughter, that afternoon when they went swimming together; he sometimes gets it when the first thing he sees as he opens his eyes in the morning is her sleepy smile, or when she gives him that furtive, knowing look while they're together in public that tells him she's counting the hours until they're alone again.

 

"Okay, I'm done here. Can you take this to the table?"

 

"Sure." Booth takes the salad bowl from her and finds himself remembering the time after his tour in Iraq, when he had to learn how to walk again after half the bones in his feet had been broken. It was difficult and painful in the beginning, but it got easier as time passed, and after a while the old feeling of normalcy returned even though he knew that injuries like that never completely stop hurting. By now, he's so used to the occasional flash of pain that it has become a part of him; it no longer restricts his ability to move, but it makes sure he'll never take it for granted that he's back on his feet.

 

"Booth?" Her puzzled tone makes him realize that he has zoned out again, and he quickly follows her to the dining table before he ends up with spinach on his pizza after all.

 

+++

 

"I need to tell you something, and I suspect that you're not going to like it, but please hear me out before you start yelling."

 

Booth almost chokes on his last mouthful of pizza, and he's glad that it provides him with a few extra seconds to pull himself together before she notices how much that announcement set his nerves on edge. She sounded almost clinical, which is never a good sign because it means she doesn't want _him_ to notice that she's nervous too.

 

He reaches for his beer bottle and gulps down the last of its contents before carefully putting it back on the table so that he doesn't have to look at her as he braces himself. "Okay, I'm listening."

 

"I told you I had to cancel our lunch date today because I was too busy at the lab, but that wasn't true." At that, he can't help meeting her gaze – she seems calm, but there's a hint of uncertainty underneath. "Actually, I left half an hour early because I wanted to come to your office to pick you up, but I ran into Deputy Director Hacker on my way into the Hoover, and he asked me to have lunch with him."

 

This is so totally out of the blue that it takes him a moment to grasp the implications. "He asked – you mean you stood me up so that you could have lunch with _Hacker_ instead?"

 

Bones winces a little. "That's not how I would have put it, but technically –"

 

Booth is on his feet before she can finish. "I think I need another beer for this conversation."

 

It's only a few steps from the dining table to the refrigerator, but he has to put a little distance between them before he says something he will regret. He knows he mustn't let his anger get the better of him – he did that once, and he never wants to see the look on her face again that he put there when he threw her out of his apartment after _that_ night. Still, he feels resentment burning like acid in his stomach as he stomps into the kitchen, and he's careful to keep his back to her so that she won't notice the expression on his face that he can see reflected in the shiny black surface of the refrigerator. She has been admonishing him for years to use the handle strip because she hates it when he leaves fingerprints all over the door, and in a sudden fit of spitefulness he grabs the spotless upper edge and yanks the door open with much more force than necessary.

 

Pain shoots through his arm as his elbow hits something solid with a sickening crunch, but the anguished yelp that accompanies it isn't his own. Booth whirls around and sees Bones staggering back with her hands clutched over her left eye, and he rushes forward to catch her before she stumbles into the kitchen island.

 

"Bones, I had no idea you were behind me – are you hurt?" Panic is settling like a lead weight on his chest. "I'm so sorry, baby, I didn't mean to –"

 

"I'm okay," she cuts him off, sounding a lot calmer than he did. "Your olecranon connected with my zygomatic, but I doubt there's bone damage, and my eye seems to be unaffected."

 

The reassurance barely registers with him as he makes a dash for the sink and soaks a dishtowel in cold water. "Here, put this over your eye – and you need to sit down…"

 

She takes the dishtowel from him and lets him lead her back to the dining table, but as soon as she's sitting, she pushes his hands away. He doesn't blame her; the sickening reality of what just happened is slowly beginning to sink in, and he knows that it doesn't matter how sorry he is – the fact remains that he _hit_ her, that she's sitting here pressing a cold compress to her face because he didn't have his anger under control.

 

Not even after he threw her out of his apartment has he felt this disgusted with himself. "Bones, I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am – I… how bad is it? Do you –"

 

"Booth, stop fussing, and stop apologizing!" Her tone is more impatient than angry, and it softens further when she continues. "It was an accident, and there's no significant damage. I expect some swelling and a little bruising, but I'm _fine_."

 

She gestures for him to sit, and he obeys without thinking. She reaches for him with her free hand, and he stares down at her fingers on top of his until she asks softly, "Will you please look at me?"

 

He reluctantly raises his head, and his stomach clenches at the sight of her smiling at him although she's still holding the dishtowel against the left half of her face. "I know you didn't mean to do this. I know that you would _never_ hurt me, okay?"

 

The idea that she should be reassuring _him_ after what just happened almost makes it worse. "I _did_ hurt you, Bones."

 

"That's enough, Booth," she admonishes him in that no-nonsense tone that's usually reserved for uncooperative local cops and sloppy FBI techs. "I consider the matter closed, and I won't let you fret about it for the rest of the evening. Can we discuss my lunch conversation with Andrew now?"

 

The Hacker thing had completely slipped his mind, but he knows he's in no position to say anything about it. "Don't you want an ice pack or something for your eye first?"

 

She shakes her head. "This is fine for the moment."

 

Booth leans back in his chair and turns towards her, keeping his posture as open and non-threatening as possible. "Okay, then shoot."

 

She smiles a little. "I know that one, Booth."

 

"Sure you do." He does his best to smile back, even though he doesn't think he's fooling her. "So, Hacker – "

 

"– asked me to have lunch with him because he hadn't seen me since my return from Maluku. I was reluctant at first, but he assured me that he didn't mean it as a sexual overture."

 

Booth isn't sure whether to laugh or wince – he really doesn't want to think of Hacker, Bones and sex in the same sentence, but he can just imagine her calmly asking the Deputy Director of the FBI if he's trying to get into her pants. "And you believed him?"

 

"He mentioned that he's in a relationship now."

 

Booth barely keeps himself from snorting. "Yeah, right."

 

Her good eye narrows. "There's no need to be so dismissive, Booth – Andrew is an intelligent, attractive man, and I know for a fact that you once considered the woman he's currently dating fairly attractive too. You remember Dr. Bryar from the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration?"

 

Booth's jaw drops. " _Catherine_? Are you serious?"

 

"Quite." She seems a little put out, and he can't help wondering whether it's an ego thing, Queen of Rationality or not. He's well aware that if it weren't for the fact that he has other things on his mind right now, _he_ would consider it quite an ego boost to know that his boss picked up his leftovers, but right now he's just grateful that he only had drinks with Catherine a few times and never slept with her.

 

"You don't look too happy about it."

 

She huffs a little. "It annoys me when things happen in reality that my editor would never let me get away with in my books."

 

"Life can be way crazier than fiction sometimes, Bones, that's just the way it is." Doesn't he know it, too – if anyone had told him ten years ago where his own life was headed, he'd have advised the guy to go easy on the weed for a while. "So he wanted to have lunch with you to brag about his new girlfriend?"

 

"I wasn't sure about his intentions, but I assumed that it was safe for me to accept his invitation given that he has no romantic interest in me any more. I hadn't planned on doing it, but… I suppose I decided to go with my gut for once."

 

"Your gut told you to have lunch with Hacker?" Booth finds that he's more puzzled than upset by this. "Why?"

 

She hesitates for a moment and tightens her grip on his hand. "Booth, we both know that we'll eventually have to figure out a way to disclose our relationship to the FBI without jeopardizing our work partnership, don't we?"

 

It takes some effort not to pull his hand away as he begins to grasp the implications. "You told Hacker."

 

"I did no such thing." She pauses to re-fold the dishtowel so that it doesn't cover her left eye any more when she presses it against the side of her face again, and Booth is relieved to see that his elbow really seems to have missed her eye because it looks neither bloodshot nor swollen. "I merely described a hypothetical scenario to him and asked him how the FBI would deal with it."

 

"Hypothetical, as in _Dear Deputy Director Hacker, what would you do if I told you that my partner and I are dating?_ "

 

She gives him a slightly affronted look. "The approach I chose was a bit more subtle than that, Booth."

 

Booth wisely chooses not to comment on her track record with subtlety. "I still don't get why you thought you had to tell him without me, Bones."

 

"I _didn't_ tell him," she reminds him patiently. "I just considered it a good opportunity to – test the waters?" She seems a little uncertain whether she got the phrase right, and her face lights up in almost childlike glee when he nods. It never ceases to amaze him how this strong, self-confident woman managed to keep alive those small remnants of the shy little girl she once must have been, and it gets to him like it always does when he catches a glimpse of it. "You see, when Andrew and I went out last year" – Booth winces a little, but she ignores it – "he told me that it was possible for him to see me socially in spite of my position as an FBI consultant because he got permission, and when I asked him who gave him the permission, he told me that he did it himself. At the time, I assumed that he mostly meant it as a joke, but lately I've been thinking that it might be possible to use it to our advantage."

 

"So you asked him if he would give you 'permission' to date _me_ , too. Hypothetically." Booth still can't decide whether to laugh or to bang his head against the wall. "Bones, you do understand that Hacker now knows exactly what's going on, right?"

 

To his surprise, she smiles again. "I may not have your people skills, but that doesn't mean I'm naïve. Do you remember how you taught me that there's a huge difference between what one's superiors know and what they _officially_ know?"

 

"Sure, but I don't get why you think it'll help us that Hacker now knows without officially knowing. Or why you had to let him know without me."

 

She leans back a little, and he recognizes the expression on her face that usually means she's about to get anthropological. "Booth, I know that you respect your boss, but you've made it abundantly clear in the past that you're uncomfortable with him getting involved in anything that concerns our partnership. Now that we've extended this partnership further into the realm of our private lives, I supposed that you would feel even more threatened by his intrusion into what you consider your domain, and I anticipated that your need to assert yourself towards him as the dominant male when it comes to our private relationship would clash with his position as your superior in your professional capacity as my work partner, so –"

 

"– you were afraid that Hacker and I would go all alpha male on each other if I was around when you asked him." Booth doesn't like to admit it, but he knows that she might not be entirely wrong.

 

Bones seems relieved that he's conceding the point. "Something like that, yes. Besides, I supposed that Andrew was less likely to feel we were undermining his authority if I merely asked for his opinion instead of confronting him with a _fait accompli_ , and it allowed him to assert his own dominant position by demonstrating his generosity and understanding."

 

"Okay, okay, I get it." Booth isn't happy with the idea of Bones stroking Hacker's ego, but he knows that he's in for another anthropological lecture if he says so. "Does that mean we'll get his permission?"

 

"Hypothetically." The sly smile she gives him is so incredibly cute that it makes him desperate to kiss her. "It seemed to me that he wasn't entirely surprised by the scenario I posited, and that our unsurpassed success rate was an important factor in his reaction because he said that he would be willing to tolerate such a relationship if it didn't affect our work partnership and if we kept behaving professionally in the workplace."

 

Booth takes a deep breath and tries to believe that for once, something might actually go smoothly for them. He honestly wouldn't have expected Bones to even consider tackling the matter at this stage of their relationship, and the fact that she did is almost too much to wrap his brain around. He isn't sure whether it would be wise to tell her how much it means to him, though, so he chooses the light-hearted approach instead. "Damn, and here I was looking forward to a quickie on the desk in my office."

 

Bones raises her eyebrows in mock astonishment. "Considering that your office has a glass front, I can only assume that it means you have exhibitionistic tendencies I wasn't aware of until now." Her expression turns smug when that leaves him sputtering, and after a moment he can finally bring himself to lean forward and kiss the smirk off her lips even if it means getting half a faceful of damp dishtowel.

 

"Thanks, Bones." He wants to say more, but he isn't quite sure how to put into words what's whirling through his mind.

 

"You're welcome." Her tone is soft, and it seems like words weren't necessary after all. There's something else he has to make clear, though.

 

"I do want to be there when we 'officially' tell Hacker, okay?"

 

"Yes, of course." She seems surprised that he even feels the need to mention it. "It's an important step with far-reaching consequences for both our professional and private lives, Booth – I would never do that without you."

 

"Thank you." This time, he doesn't even try to say anything else because he's afraid his voice won't obey him. She just nods, and he hopes that it means she understands.

 

"You want that ice pack now?"

 

Bones shakes her head and puts the dishtowel aside. The skin under her eye is reddening, but at least the swelling doesn't look too bad. "I'm fine, Booth, it barely hurts any more. To be honest, I just want to go to bed now, it has been a long day for both of us."

 

"You mean you want me to stay?" They both assumed that he'd spend the night when they agreed to have dinner together at her apartment, but that was before she got his elbow in her face.

 

"Yes, of course I do." She looks honestly puzzled by the question. "Unless you don't, of course –"

 

"No, that's not what I meant at all," he quickly interrupts her, hating the sudden insecurity that has slipped into her tone. The last thing he needs is to make her think that he doesn't _want_ to stay with her. "Come on, Bones, let's go to bed."

 

That night is one of the rare occasions when she lets him make slow, tender love to her, and when he finally falls asleep with her back spooned against his chest and her head pillowed on his arm, Booth feels almost at peace with the world and himself again.

 

+++

 

Bones wakes him up the following morning when she begins to stir next to him. She must have turned around in his arms during the night because her bangs are tickling his face, and for a moment, Booth keeps his eyes closed and allows himself to enjoy the warm, comfortable feeling of simple contentment.

 

Only when she presses a sleepy kiss on his cheek and whispers "Good morning" in his ear does he finally open his eyes, immediately wishing he hadn't because she's sporting a shiner that would do a boxing champion proud.

 

She notices his shocked expression and interprets it correctly, because her hand flies to her face. "Do I look that bad?"

 

"No, of course not." Booth may have nothing but a list of failed relationships to his name when it comes to women, but that doesn't mean he's totally clueless. "You're always beautiful, Bones, but – looks like I really did a number on your eye."

 

She throws back the covers and gets up to check her appearance in the mirror of her vanity table. As usual, she doesn't bother with a robe, and the way she's so utterly unconcerned about being naked in his presence always gets to him – she says it's just because he's too prudish to understand her pragmatic approach when it comes to the human body, but he knows that's not the reason. No other woman he has ever been with would have been comfortable wandering around without a stitch on right in front of him, and the fact that it doesn't seem to bother Bones at all makes him feel like she's letting him see far more than just her skin on those occasions, even though _that_ view is already enough to take his breath away.

 

Today, however, not even the sight of her shapely ass is able to distract him when she studies her black eye in the mirror. "It's quite an impressive hematoma, yes, but" – she turns around to give him a grin – "you should see the other guy."

 

Booth does his best to grin back, wondering where on earth she picked up _that_ line, and makes a show of checking his elbow. "Yup, definitely going black and blue here too."

 

"See? We're even." She gives him a wink before disappearing into the bathroom, and Booth rolls out of bed with a groan – it's still way too early in the morning for his taste, but he wants to make sure there's coffee waiting for her when she gets out of the shower.

 

+++

 

"Bones, are you done already? I've got a meeting at nine!"

 

This, at least, is one area where the stereotype applies even to Dr. Temperance Brennan: if they don't have a case waiting for them, "five minutes to finish my make-up" always means at least fifteen.

 

"I'm not finished yet, Booth – but you don't have to wait for me, I'm taking my own car anyway!" her voice reminds him through the bathroom door.

 

She's right, of course – as long as they're keeping their relationship under wraps, it's smarter if he doesn't drop her off at the Jeffersonian on his way to work. Two years ago it wouldn't have raised any eyebrows, but given how rare his visits at the lab have become since he came back from Afghanistan, it's probably better if he doesn't feed the gossip mill by letting a bunch of nosy squints see her get out of his car in the morning.

 

With a sigh, Booth pushes the bathroom door open to properly say good-bye (Rebecca would have disemboweled him for walking in on her while she was putting the warpaint on, but Bones is pretty relaxed in that regard), but he freezes in his tracks when he sees her squint at the mirror while dabbing beige goo on the discolored area under her eye.

 

"See?" She sounds quite pleased with herself. "The contusion will hardly be visible any more once I'm done."

 

 _"Mom, what are you doing?"_

 _"Seeley, go wait outside, it's nothing – everything will be fine once I'm done…"_

 

"Booth?"

 

He blinks when she waves her hand in front of his eyes, her expression concerned. He slowly becomes aware that he has backed out of the bathroom and is leaning against the bedroom wall with his mouth clamped tightly shut because he feels dangerously close to losing his breakfast.

 

Bones is still holding the open tube of make-up, but she hasn't managed to cover her black eye completely yet because the bluish tint of the bruised skin is still visible underneath. It's been thirty years, but he remembers only too well seeing that same color on his mother's face, and the image of her standing in the tiny bathroom of his childhood home, frantically trying to paint over the marks on her skin, is so clear in his mind as if no time had passed at all.

 

"Booth, talk to me. What's wrong?"

 

He takes a deep breath and pulls himself together. "It's nothing, Bones – I mean, it's stupid, I just… I just remembered something."

 

"What did you remember?" Her eyes never leave his, and he realizes with a sinking feeling that she isn't going to just let this be. "It must be an extremely disturbing memory for you to react like this."

 

Nothing for it, then – he isn't happy about having to admit this, but he can't think of a way around it. "My mother, with the – you know, with the make-up." Her eyes widen with sudden understanding, so at least he won't have to spell it out for her.

 

"Your mother covered her injuries with make-up after your father beat her?"

 

Booth only nods, reluctant to volunteer any more embarrassing information. Bones doesn't need to know how his aunts used to tease his mother for being "vain" because she wouldn't leave the house without make-up, even if she just went grocery shopping; how Mom never wore short sleeves, no matter how hot it was outside; or how she always wore her hair short after Dad dragged her down the stairs by her ponytail, and just smiled when people told her what a sin it was to cut such beautiful hair.

 

"I see." To his immense relief, Bones doesn't try to comfort him; he feels mortified enough already without her coddling him like a frightened child. He's a little surprised, though, when she marches back into the bathroom.

 

"You're absolutely right," she states while she starts rubbing at the skin under her eye with a cotton ball, "there is no need for me to hide this. I had an accident, and if anyone asks about the reason for my injury, I will just tell them."

 

Before he can get a word in, she shoots him a glare over her shoulder. "What are you still doing here, Booth? Don't you have a meeting?"

 

"Right." His mind still reeling, he steps up to her to kiss her good-bye. She kisses back without hesitation, and then asks casually, "Lunch at the diner?"

 

"I'd love to, but I have no idea how long that damned meeting is going to –"

 

"Just come over when you're done." With that, she turns back to the mirror while adding, almost as an afterthought, "I'll be waiting for you."

 

+++

 

It's half past one when the automatic doors of the lab swish open in front of Booth. As he walks through them, he does his best to ignore the fact that he still doesn't feel comfortable coming here again. He was sorely tempted to give Bones a call and ask her to meet him at the diner, but he didn't miss the underlying message when she asked him to "just come over" in the morning – she would probably deny it if he asked her about it, but it seems that she's on a mission to lure him back among the squints.

 

They've never discussed his long absence from the lab, and he doesn't think he _wants_ to talk about it because he has no wish to dwell on memories of those first confusing months, when nothing felt quite right in his life although everything looked the same, and he had no idea if he even was the same person who had left for Afghanistan. There was Hannah, and Bones; everything was fragile and complicated and ever so slightly out of balance, and while things got easier with Bones once they were back to their work routine, he had no idea how to deal with the place that he'd always considered her domain, and with the people who basically were her family and probably thought that he had just given up on her.

 

He started coming to the lab again after Hannah left, if only because it was one of the few places in his daily life that held no remnants of her presence, but that easy, effortless sense of belonging still hasn't fully returned. He knows it's not the squints – even after months of barely seeing him outside of crime scenes, nobody acts sulky or distant around him, and they aren't even being particularly nosy about Hannah or his father. Still, he doesn't quite feel like a part of this family yet again, and he has come to realize that he misses it more than he thought he would. He wonders if things will go back to normal once they know about Bones and him, but he honestly has no idea how that will go over, or when he and Bones will even feel ready to tell them, so he figures he'll cross that bridge when he gets to it.

 

"Hi, g-man, glad to see that you're still in one piece!"

 

Booth shoots an irritated glance in the direction of Hodgins' workstation while he walks towards the table where Bones is studying something that looks like pottery shards, but is probably skull fragments. "What's that supposed to mean?"

 

Hodgins appears unfazed; he merely gives Booth a grin over his microscope. "Well, I guess most guys who give Dr. B a black eye wouldn't be walking upright the day after."

 

Bones snickers at this, and Booth decides that the best course of action is to ignore Hodgins completely. In a way, it's a relief that her co-workers consider this… thing a laughing matter, even though he knows that squints have a pretty warped sense of humor.

 

"Leave the man alone, Dr. Hodgins!" Cam steps between Booth and Hodgins and almost manages to make it look coincidental. Hodgins, however, must be in a suicidal mood today, because he doesn't let up.

 

"Hey, Booth, you should probably warn your bosses that the Jeffersonian might sue the FBI on behalf of Dr. B for damages suffered in your break room."

 

"Huh?" Booth has no idea what the bug guy is talking about, but Bones chimes in before he can ask.

 

"Dr. Hodgins inquired after the event that resulted in my injury, so I informed him that while we were discussing FBI personnel policy yesterday evening, you opened the refrigerator without noticing that I was standing right behind you and accidentally grazed me with your elbow."

 

Booth can't help being impressed. Everything she said is true, but she still made it _sound_ as if they'd met at the Hoover the previous evening, thus making sure that nobody will wonder what he was doing in her kitchen in the first place.

 

"Okay, enough already!" Cam gives Hodgins a look that finally sends him back to whatever bug he's playing with. "Booth, is there a new case I need to know about?"

 

"No, I'm just here to keep Bones from starving herself to death on top of knocking herself out with my elbow." If others can joke about it, Booth figures it's best to do the same, even though Cam's narrowing eyes indicate that she's not buying his attempt at levity.

 

"Dr. Brennan, that skull isn't going anywhere, go let the man buy you lunch." Bones frowns, but she still puts the shard she was inspecting aside and starts unbuttoning her lab coat.

 

"Fine, let me just get my purse."

 

As soon as Bones is out of earshot, Cam turns towards Booth, her expression serious. "Are you okay?"

 

"Why wouldn't I be?" Booth does his best to act surprised. "I wasn't the one who got hurt."

 

"Seeley." Cam's tone is stern, but he can still tell that she's concerned. "Don't give me that, I've known you too long to buy it."

 

"Right." Booth knows that he should be irritated, but he can't help feeling a little grateful that after everything that has happened, Cam still gets him.

 

"Just as long as we're clear on that." Cam glares at him, but he can see the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, and it's suddenly easy to smile back.

 

"I'm fine, Camille. Really."

 

"Don't call me Camille." The response is automatic, and it's such a welcome moment of normalcy that Booth feels like a weight has been lifted off his chest. For the first time, he finds himself wishing that he could tell her what's really going on with him and Bones – Cam has been his friend for almost twenty years, and he realizes that he wants her to be a part of this new reality even if he doesn't fully get it himself yet. The feeling is new and more than a little surprising, but he finds it strangely uplifting nevertheless.

 

"Then don't call me Seeley."

 

"Deal." She gives his shoulder a playful punch and shoves him in the direction of Bones, who is just stepping out of her office. "And now go feed your partner."

 

+++

 

Booth puts the last of the dishes away and then follows Bones to the living room. With a sigh, he sits down next to her on the couch, wincing a little from the dull ache in his feet that has been his steady companion for most of the week, ever since the damned rain started.

 

As if reading his thoughts, she casts an irritated glance towards the window. It's only seven in the evening, but it's almost completely dark because of the heavy black clouds that are covering the sky. "I don't think you'll be able to take Parker to the zoo tomorrow."

 

"I guess not." He didn't mean to be so curt, but this week has been rough, and he's really been looking forward to his weekend with Parker. However, it looks more and more like he'll spend it with his bored son sulking about being cooped up inside and refusing do to anything but play video games, and Booth can't muster up much enthusiasm for that.

 

"We could take him to a museum, if you'd like? Or perhaps the aquarium?" She clearly tries to sound cheerful for his sake, and Booth feels a twinge of embarrassment that she should feel the need to placate him.

 

"Yeah, why not – I'm sure we'll think of something." Her face lights up at his smile, and he feels almost humbled by the realization that she doesn't even try to hide how important his happiness is to her. He pulls himself together – foul mood or not, he doesn't want Bones to feel like she's already saddled with a sulking pre-teen.

 

"Do you have to work tonight?" He knows she's got a book deadline looming, and she has already told him that she has several chapters to revise over the weekend.

 

"No, I can do that tomorrow evening, when you're staying at your place with Parker. Tonight, I'm all yours." The saucy wink she gives him is only slightly marred by the greenish-yellow shade under her eye that still hasn't completely faded, but Booth does his best to ignore it as he winks back.

 

"As appealing as that sounds, can you at least give me half an hour before you drag me off to the bedroom? I'm dead on my feet here."

 

"Oh, I didn't mean we should spend the whole evening having sex," she replies, unfazed as usual, but at least she didn't call it _intercourse_ this time. "And you're not actually on your feet, considering that you're sitting next to me. Your feet seem to be troubling you, though."

 

Booth sighs. "There's no hiding things from you, is there?"

 

"Not when it comes to bone damage." She scoots away from him and pats her thigh invitingly. "Put your feet in my lap."

 

"Huh?" Booth is a little baffled by the request, but he still complies and stretches out on his back, with his head on the armrest of the sofa and his feet in Bones' lap. It's quite comfortable, but he still isn't sure what to think of this.

 

Her intentions become clear when she presses her thumbs into the balls of his feet hard enough to make him yelp.

 

"Ouch!"

 

"Sorry," she says with a little shrug, "you might experience some discomfort initially, but I know what I'm doing."

 

"I don't doubt it, Bones, it's just that…" Booth forgets what he was about to say when she starts working on his feet in earnest. It still hurts, but it feels like the pain is slowly melting away under her capable fingers, and he has to bite his lip to keep himself from groaning with relief.

 

"Better?" Given her self-satisfied smile, she can tell just by looking at him that she's working a miracle here, but Booth figures he should still make it clear that he appreciates what she's doing.

 

"Way better, thank you – you've got magic fingers, Bones." It's a good thing too, he can't help thinking – lately, his body has been hell-bent on reminding him that his 40th birthday is looming on the horizon. "I just never pictured you as the kind of woman who gives a guy foot massages."

 

She frowns, as if the remark surprised her. "I don't see why I wouldn't – I'm an expert on skeletal structure, after all."

 

"Sure you are – it's just that it seems like something out of a Fifties movie, you know what I'm saying?"

 

Bones shrugs again. "If you're alluding to stereotypical gender roles, let me you remind you that you massaged my shoulders when I had a headache last week."

 

"Yeah, and you gave me instructions throughout." Booth grins at the memory, but then yelps again when Bones pinches his toe in a way that doesn't seem related to the massage.

 

"Like I said, _I'm_ the expert on skeletal structure. And now take your feet off my lap, I'm finished."

 

"Aw, come on, Bones, I was just getting comfortable here." The withering glance she shoots him is downright reassuring in its normalcy, and Booth quickly sits up and rests his feet on the coffee table. "So what's the plan for tonight?"

 

"I thought we could watch a movie."

 

"Sounds good to me." Booth does his best to keep his tone light; they've watched a lot of movies during the last two months, and he still isn't entirely sure how he feels about the whole thing. He knows he has only himself to blame – during one of the first evenings they spent together at her place, he jokingly told Bones that he was finally going to introduce her to the concept of sound films, and although she rolled her eyes at him, they still ended up watching "Jurassic Park" on her crappy little TV that she usually hid in the kitchen. She kept complaining about the impossible science and the gaping plot holes, but the little squeak she made when the Raptor jumped out at the two kids more than made up for it.

 

It was a fun evening, but he didn't think much of it until the next time he came to her apartment and found that Bones now owned a huge-ass plasma screen that took up an entire wall of her living room. She looked so pleased with herself that he couldn't bring himself to admit he wasn't crazy about being reminded whenever he switched on the TV that he had to work six months for the amount of money she could blow on a spontaneous shopping spree.

 

He still feels like an ungrateful bastard, but he can't help the sting of humiliation whenever he looks at the huge screen on the wall. He's aware that it's something he'll have to come to terms with – he has always known that he's piss-poor compared to her, after all, and he's determined not to let her notice that it bothers him when she buys things for his sake that he couldn't afford on his own. She'd probably just laugh or remind him in that factual tone of hers that it's still _her_ TV and therefore none of his concern, but she still might think that he doesn't appreciate the gesture, and he doesn't want to risk that.

 

In a way, the TV reminds him a little of their current relationship – it's new and shiny, and definitely something he has wanted for a long time, but it comes weighed down with enough emotional baggage to keep Sweets busy for a year (if he knew about it, of course, and Booth has every intention to prevent that from happening for as long as possible). Besides, as fun as it is to work on Bones' pop culture education, Booth isn't sure whether it's a good thing that they spend so much time in front of the TV when they're at her apartment. Even if he doesn't like to think about it, he knows that there are lots of discussions they still need to have, but these evenings on the couch with her are always so comfortable that he doesn't want to ruin them by bringing up loaded topics – topics that might force him to admit that he still doesn't feel secure in this relationship (and considering how hard she's trying to get everything right, neither does she). It's ironic in a completely non-funny way, because he's pretty sure that most couples who watch lots of TV together do it because they have nothing to say to each other any more, not because they have too much stuff to talk about and can't bring themselves to address any of it.

 

Fully aware that he's taking the coward's way out again, he watches her insert a DVD into the player. "What movie did you get?"

 

" _Alexander_ , by Oliver Stone."

 

"I don't think I know that one."

 

Bones returns to the couch and draws her knees up to her chest in a way that makes his joints ache just from looking at her. "I borrowed the DVD from a colleague in the Ancient History department. He says the movie wasn't very successful in the US, but he highly recommends it."

 

"Another history flick?" With a groan, Booth slumps against the backrest of the couch. "Isn't it enough that you ruined _Braveheart_ for me?"

 

Something flickers across her face that looks like hurt, but it's gone so fast that he probably imagined it; instead, her expression turns indignant. "It's hardy possible for me to 'ruin' such a ridiculous mix of factual errors, anachronisms, deliberate misrepresentation of historical events, clichéd characters and bad acting!"

 

"Whoa, go easy on poor Mel, Bones!" Booth holds up his hands in mock surrender. "You win, okay? It's just that I kinda liked that movie, but now I can never watch it again without your voice in my head nagging that guys didn't wear kilts in Scotland back then!"

 

She throws him an icy look, although he's relieved to see the amused twinkle in her eyes. "And you'd rather listen to a horribly fake Scottish accent instead of hearing my voice in your head?"

 

"I didn't say that, did I?" he shoots back with a grin and pulls her towards him for a quick kiss. He feels her smile against his lips and decides that tonight, he's satisfied to live in the moment; all the stuff they still have to sort out isn't going anywhere, so it can wait a while longer.

 

Bones hits 'play' and then snuggles up to him when he wraps his arm around her shoulders, and Booth sinks deeper into the cushions, determined to enjoy the moment while it lasts, and turns his attention to the screen.

 

+++

 

"That was surprisingly entertaining."

 

Booth realizes belatedly that Bones is waiting for some kind of reaction from him; he's been struggling to stay awake for the last twenty minutes or so, and he doesn't quite feel up to a coherent response.

 

"Uh – I guess…"

 

She gives him a calculating look. "Is that your way of telling me that you didn't like it?"

 

"Nah, I just – I must have dozed off for a while when you went all quiet instead of nitpicking the hell out of it…"

 

"I was quiet because I was paying attention, Booth, and there wasn't much for me to nitpick – for a mainstream movie, there were surprisingly few factual errors, and I found the depiction of Alexander's character very convincing."

 

"I wouldn't know anything about that, Bones," he reminds her. "The battle scenes were cool, though – you know, the way they showed his strategy during the big battle of…"

 

"Gaugamela," she helps him out when he tries in vain to remember the name.

 

"Yes, that one – sometimes movie makers seem to think battles are just guys hacking away at each other, but that one seemed pretty real."

 

"And the actress who plays Alexander's mother is very sexually alluring."

 

Booth rolls his eyes. As sweet as her attempt to find some pros for him may be, sometimes he just can't believe that a genius like her could be _this_ oblivious. "That's because she's _Angelina Jolie_. Jeez, Bones, I've really got my work cut out with you."

 

She shrugs. "So you didn't enjoy it overall. It's okay, Booth, I'd just like to know what you didn't like about it so I'll know what to avoid next time I choose a movie for us."

 

Booth suppresses a sigh. It's ten o'clock in the evening after a long, stressful week, and he really doesn't feel up to giving an insightful movie critique when he'd much rather fall asleep against her shoulder. Still, he's determined to at least make an effort if it means so much to her.

 

"It's just that it was all rather depressing in the end, you know? I mean, I don't know the first thing about Alexander the Great, but I always thought the guy was like, the greatest hero of ancient history or something like that – but that guy in the movie was more of a power-crazed nutcase who basically failed in the end and left nothing but a huge mess behind."

 

He knows he's in for an anthropological lecture the moment she opens her mouth. "Those two aren't necessarily mutually exclusive – Alexander _was_ considered the ultimate hero for centuries, even though you could say that he failed to achieve his most important goals. Heroism has been a fluctuating concept throughout history – and not only does it differ from one society to the next, even within a society several different, or even contradictory, concepts of what constitutes a hero can co-exist. In Ancient Greece –"

 

She pauses for a moment, obviously noticing that his eyes are beginning to glaze over. When she continues, she no longer sounds like she's lecturing; instead, she suddenly seems to be choosing her words very carefully. "What I'm trying to say, Booth, is that not only does every society have its own definition of heroism, but that individuals often develop their own concept which doesn't always adhere to the generally accepted norm. I know that you believe in an inherent connection between failure and weakness, but I assume that the real reason why you don't consider Alexander a hero based on what you just saw is that his goals and ambitions were essentially selfish, and it's actually something that concurs with my own interpretation of the concept."

 

Booth can't help the nagging feeling that she's trying to tell him something important and that he's too stupid to get it. "I'm sorry, but could you translate that into English for me?"

 

"I'll try." The way she keeps her gaze fixed on him makes it clear that he'd better pay attention. "I'm saying that while I can appreciate Alexander's accomplishments on an intellectual level, he doesn't fall within the parameters of my subjective concept of heroism either. If you'd like an example of what I consider heroic, my answer would be that your way of risking your life for the safety of others without personal gain and with little acknowledgement of your achievements fits the concept much better than a king who conquers half the world in a personal quest for power."

 

"Bones, wait a moment." Booth unconsciously sits up straighter. "Are you seriously telling me that you think I'm more of a hero than Alexander the Great?"

 

"If I adhere to my own understanding of the term, then yes, that's exactly what I'm telling you."

 

She sounds calm and composed, as if she were merely stating an obvious fact, and Booth hopes she won't notice how wildly uncomfortable he suddenly feels. He knows that if he closes his eyes now, he'll be back in Afghanistan, wondering what the fuck he's doing in the middle of this mess when he had a life back home, a life in which blood-spattered children and dead teenagers in Army fatigues were nothing but nightmares and memories. He has never felt like a war hero, not even during his early days in the service, but back then he could still believe that he was doing the right thing, no matter how ugly things got and how much the blood on his hands kept haunting him later. Now, though, the idea that Bones considers him a hero for what may have been the most cowardly thing he's ever done makes him sick to his stomach, and the worst of it is that he can never admit it to her. She has never said so, but he knows she's blaming herself for his re-enlistment, which adds an extra layer of humiliation to what he already considers the most shameful decision of his life. Seven months in hell seem like a well-deserved punishment for that, but he had hoped that she of all people would understand that it was the opposite of heroism that got him there in the first place.

 

"Bones, I just did my duty, I never –"

 

She cuts him off before he can finish the sentence. "I'm not talking about your military career, Booth, I'm talking about _you_ , the man I've known for seven years. It pains me when I see you constantly questioning your own worth, but it doesn't influence my perception of you, and I stand by my assessment."

 

He has no idea what to say to that; at long last, all he gets out is a hoarse, "Thanks, Bones." He isn't sure if she truly understands how much her unwavering faith in him means to him, even though he can't help the nagging fear that he will never be able to fully live up to it. Still, seeing her look at him with such utter trust in her eyes makes him determined to _be_ the man she sees in him, just to make sure she won't ever have to stop believing in him.

 

She nods and leans back into his embrace, and Booth tucks her head under his chin and pulls her close. They sit in silence for a while, but for once there's nothing uncomfortable to it; the rain is still pelting against the windows, but somehow the storm outside seems very far away.

 

"You know what surprised me about the movie?" Bones asks after a while; her tone is light and conversational, and Booth deduces with profound relief that they're done with the big topics for tonight. "I didn't expect the depiction of the relationship between Alexander and Hephaistion to be so overtly homoerotic. It's factually correct, of course, but given how much of a taboo homosexuality still is in most aspects of today's culture, I wouldn't have thought that a Hollywood movie would approach the topic with so little reservation."

 

Booth suppresses a chuckle. "Uh, Bones, does _Brokeback_ _Mountain_ mean anything to you?"

 

She raises her head to give him a puzzled look. "The short story by Annie Proulx? I don't see the connection."

 

"Never mind." Booth quickly changes the topic before she puts that movie on the list next – he has no problem with the topic in general, but the few guys he knows who were dragged into the movie theater by their girlfriends or spouses all described it as "the chick flick to end all chick flicks", and he really doesn't need Bones to go anthropological on his ass over _that_. "Don't tell me you thought _I_ was going to freak out over those scenes?"

 

"It has crossed my mind," she admits with the slightest hint of a grin. "I know you're not homophobic, but –"

 

Booth gives her a stern look. "Bones, what exactly do I have to do to finally convince you that I'm _not_ a prude?"

 

Her grin widens, and Booth finds he suddenly isn't all that tired any more. "How graphic would you like my answer to be?"

 

"Please don't hold back on my behalf." Booth leans in a little and lowers his voice – two can play that game, after all. "I'd have thought that bending you over the hood of my car on a public road in broad daylight would be enough, but if you need further proof, I'll be more than happy to provide it."

 

"I'll get back to you about that." She winks at him, but then she turns serious again. "I admit that I was a little surprised at first, though – considering your usual reaction whenever I brought up the topic of sex during a conversation…"

 

Booth holds up a hand to cut her off. "Stop right there, Bones. I'm _private_ , not prudish – there's a huge difference, you know, and just because you squints have no concept of personal boundaries or common decency…"

 

"…which only explains why you reacted adversely to questions about your personal life, Booth, but you can't deny that even a general discussion of sexual topics often made you uncomfortable, even when it was just the two of us and not 'us squints', like you put it."

 

"You really want me to spell it out for you, Bones, don't you?" Booth gives her a look that's half exasperation, half resignation because he knows fully well he'll never hear the end of this after what he's about to admit. "It was much worse when it was just the two of us – I mean, do you have any idea what it did to me to hear you prattle on about things most people only _think_ in the dark? In a tone that made you sound like the strict schoolteacher from a porn movie?"

 

"You watched porn movies about schoolteachers?" Her eyes widen as the implications of what he just said begin to sink in. "You mean you didn't like it when I discussed sex in a scientific manner because you found it arousing?"

 

"Still do," he confesses with a sheepish grin. "Even hearing you say _intercourse_ sends my mind straight to the gutter, and that's probably the most horrible word that was ever invented for sex."

 

The slow grin that's spreading over her face now is full of wicked promise. "In that case, I look forward to expanding your vocabulary when we go to bed." Before he can take her up on the offer, though, she jumps up from the couch and makes a dash for her study, leaving Booth startled and more than a little frustrated.

 

She's back within seconds with her laptop. "Speaking of beds, there's something I wanted to discuss with you." She opens the browser and pulls up a bookmarked website. Booth watches with growing bewilderment while she sifts through what looks like pictures of furniture until she finds what she was looking for. "What do you think of this one?"

 

The picture shows a king-sized bed that's made of some kind of dark wood. Booth shrugs, deciding to go with whatever has gotten into her. "I think it's a bed, Bones. What about it?"

 

She gives him one of those stern looks she's so good at. "I've been thinking about buying a new bed. My current bed is queen-sized, and I think that it's a little too small for the two of us in the long run. Besides, the mattress is a few years old, and considering your chronic back problems –"

 

"Whoa!" he interrupts her before she can launch into another diatribe about his health issues. "Listen, I'm sure that a new bed is a great idea, but please don't make it sound like the next thing I'll need is a wheelchair, okay?"

 

"Okay," she relents, "so what do you think of this one? I really like the design, and it would go well with the rest of my bedroom furniture."

 

Booth shrugs. "Sure, it looks nice, but Bones, this is your bed, so it's up to you to decide."

 

That seems to put a dampener on her enthusiasm, and Booth immediately feels like an insensitive asshole – he knows fully well what she's trying to do here, after all, but the plasma screen debacle has made him a little wary.

 

"Booth, I wouldn't need a bigger bed if it was just for me, but since I intend this to be _our_ bed, you should have a say in the decision too."

 

 _Our_ bed. Booth can't help loving the sound of it, even though he knows it carries implications that are way too much to expect from their current relationship, and he has learned the hard way how dangerous it can be to ask for too much too fast.

 

"Look, Bones, I'd really like that, but you do realize that you'll have to let me pay for half of it if you want it to be _our_ bed, don't you?"

 

He braces himself for an argument that will undoubtedly deliver a few blows to his ego, but she merely nods. "That seems reasonable. So, what do you think of it?"

 

Within minutes, they're both engrossed in comparing designs and materials; Booth makes sure not to mention prices, because even if she picks out the most expensive bed she can find, he _will_ pay for half of it this time, and he's honestly relieved that she doesn't seem to go for the cheap stuff for his sake. He keeps reminding himself that he shouldn't read too much into this, but he can't help feeling strangely giddy at the thought that they're about to buy something that will be _theirs_ , and he can only hope that she won't start panicking halfway through.

 

It's almost midnight when they've finally narrowed down the list to a few favorites, and they agree to go to the store the following weekend to check out the real thing before they make a decision.

 

Booth starts nuzzling her neck while she powers down her laptop. He's wide awake now, and not at all averse to the idea of getting some more use out of her old bed while she still has it. Bones giggles a little, but judging from the way she keeps chewing her lower lip, there's something on her mind.

 

"Booth?"

 

She sounds so nervous that he's immediately alarmed. "Yeah?" He does his best to sound reassuring while he fervently hopes that she isn't about to balk.

 

"Move in with me."

 

Booth is aware that he should say something, that her request demands some kind of reaction from him – but all he can do is stare at her. At long last, the best he can manage is a faint, "What?"

 

Bones holds his gaze, although her nervousness is obvious. "I've been thinking about this for a while, Booth – you only spend the night at your apartment when you have Parker, and you've always refused when I offered to stay with you at your place instead of mine. I –"

 

"You think I don't want you at my place?" He mentally kicks himself because now that she mentioned it, it seems pretty obvious that his behavior would lead her to such a conclusion. "Bones, I never –"

 

"No, that's not what I think at all," she interrupts him, sounding a lot calmer than before. "Actually, I assumed that you're avoiding your apartment because it reminds you of Hannah."

 

Booth takes a deep breath. Bones knows very well that Hannah is a topic he doesn't like to discuss, and most of the time, she respects that and leaves the matter alone. He has to admit it's something they need to talk about at some point if they don't want to have it hanging over their heads forever, but he can already feel his skin crawl with the lingering sense of shame that rises to the surface whenever he thinks of Hannah. He still isn't sure what he's ashamed of – fooling himself, fooling her, or maybe letting her fool him, but in the end, it doesn't really matter. He remembers how he looked at her, right before she turned away to walk out of his door and out of his life, and how he felt like he didn't even know her, like he'd spent the last few months with a stranger he'd never bothered to get to know – just like she hadn't bothered with him.

 

Bones is right, though; he can't even walk into his bedroom these days without remembering all the hours he spent there with Hannah, and the idea of letting Bones anywhere near that same bed again seems so utterly wrong that he did everything he could to keep her away from his place without considering that she was bound to notice sooner or later. He had assumed that Bones, too, wouldn't be too keen on spending the night in his bed considering how the one night she did spend there turned out, but it seems that the memory of that troubles her a lot less than it's still troubling him.

 

A part of him is relieved that she understood – if anyone has ever truly understood him, it has always been her – and didn't take offence, and he can't help the little thrill which the idea that Bones wants to live with him gives him, but he has learned his lesson about rushing into things she might not be ready for.

 

Bones has been watching him anxiously, probably worried that he might react badly to her mention of Hannah. Booth reaches out and takes her hand because it's suddenly terribly important to reassure her, to make it clear that he's not hesitating because he wants to refuse her offer, but because the magnitude of it seems a little overwhelming. She visibly relaxes at his touch, and Booth does his best to sound calm when he admits, "You're not entirely wrong about that, Bones, but – are you really sure this is what you want?"

 

She raises her eyebrows as if the question had offended her. "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want you to accept my offer."

 

It feels strangely right that she would use a logical argument to reassure _him_ – she has always felt on firm ground with logic, and she probably supposes that it will work for him too. Her voice softens a little when she adds, almost like an afterthought, "I like having you here."

 

"You don't feel like I'm cramping your style?" It came out a lot more flippant than he intended, but there's no way to take it back now.

 

Bones frowns, but to his relief, she doesn't let go of his hand. "I don't know what that means."

 

"It's just that" – Booth pauses for a moment, carefully weighing his words – "you're used to having your own space, and this apartment is totally you – don't get me wrong, I really like the place, but I'm not sure how I fit in here."

 

"I don't see how that would be an issue, Booth." She sounds puzzled, obviously still not certain what he's getting at. "My apartment is much bigger than yours, so it should easily be spacious enough for two people. I'm perfectly willing to make room for your belongings, of course, if that is what you're worrying about – I know that you own a lot of things you're very attached to."

 

Booth bites his lip; she still doesn't get it, and he doesn't know if he really wants her to. She's right, of course – her place is not only much bigger, it's also ten times better than his, which means that asking him to move in with her instead of the other way around is the only logical solution. Not that he would _want_ her to live in his apartment, but he still can't help the nagging feeling that he isn't living up to her standard because there's no way he could ever ask her to move in with him. It was never an issue with Hannah – his place was probably a step up from most of the hotel rooms she usually stayed in, but that didn't even cross his mind when he offered to share it with her. Things are very different with Bones, but he isn't sure how he can make her understand what the problem is – not when he isn't even entirely certain himself.

 

"Will you let me pay part of the rent if I move in?" It's the one thing he _is_ sure about, even though he's aware they can never be truly equal in that regard because even half the rent for her apartment is probably way out of his league.

 

He braces himself for Bones calmly pointing out just that when she shakes her head. "This is a condominium, Booth; there's no rent, just association fees."

 

Booth's jaw drops. He's dimly aware that he should have thought of that possibility, but somehow, it never occurred to him. "You _own_ this place?"

 

"I bought it with the advance for my second book; it seemed like a sensible investment. Besides, I didn't feel comfortable in my old apartment any longer after you almost got killed in my kitchen."

 

The admission leaves him with a lump in his throat. "You never told me that."

 

"Which is why I'm telling you now." Bones keeps her tone light. "We can share the association fees if it's important to you – and since I always seem to need a lot more food when you're around, you can also pay for groceries." She seems very pleased with herself all of a sudden. "That way, you can rightly claim that you're the person who puts the food on the table in our relationship."

 

Booth has to force himself not to let go of her hand; she probably meant it as a joke, but that doesn't take the sting out of her words. "Are you mocking me?"

 

"Of course not." Her smile fades; she sounds very serious when she continues. "Booth, are – is the disparity between our incomes going to be a problem for you? You've often said that you don't mind, and it has always been my understanding that partners are supposed to share…"

 

"But not your _money_ , Bones!" Booth is aware that they're on a slippery slope now – because it's true, her wealth has never bothered him overmuch while they were just partners, and he really doesn't want to explain to her why the fact that they've gotten rid of the "just" makes things more difficult all of a sudden.

 

Her eyes narrow in a way that indicates she has found a flaw in his argument and isn't going to let him get away with it. "Wouldn't you do the same for me if our roles were reversed?"

 

"That's… different." It sounds lame to his own ears – she has him cold, and they both know it.

 

Yet, instead of just dismissing his claim as illogical, she surprises him by changing tack. "Anthropologically speaking, I understand your hesitation, Booth – the concept of the male as the provider for the family has been an undisputed factor in our society for a long time, and even though changing societal norms and economic necessities have now pushed it into the realm of mere tropes, these tropes still go a long way in defining the general perception of gender roles. Even though you accept the changed status of women in the everyday reality of your life, you are rather traditional when it comes to your basic values and desires –"

 

"Whoa!" Booth interrupts her. "Did you just call me chauvinistic, or just backward in general?"

 

"I didn't mean to imply either." There's that clinical tone again that tells him she's getting nervous about something. "I only meant to say that I know you have a rather rigid concept of the things that you want from your life, and that I can't and won't ever fully fit into that concept. I thought that you were willing to accept that when you decided to enter into a romantic relationship with me, but –"

 

"Bones, stop. Please." He can't believe that he didn't see the gaping chasm ahead of them until they were just one step away from stumbling into it. "Don't think for a second that I don't want to be with you, or that I think that you aren't enough for me, because _nothing_ could be further from the truth."

 

Her detached tone wavers a little when she objects, "We all define ourselves by our goals in life, Booth. Our partnership has always been successful because there are numerous goals we share when it comes to our professions, but in our private lives – you want to get married, have ch–"

 

He cuts her off again before she can continue. "I want _you_ , Bones, do you understand me? Trust me, I know what I'm getting myself into, and that it's not going to include any white picket fences. I went for that with Rebecca, and it didn't work, and then I thought I'd gotten another chance with Hannah, and look how _that_ turned out." It's only now that he realizes he really means it; he's tired of chasing after a fantasy that crumbles into dust whenever he thinks he's just a step away from finally seeing his dream fulfilled, and that almost made him lose one of the most precious things in his life because he couldn't see it for what it was. He has no idea what to expect from a future with Bones, and he knows only too well there's no guarantee that they'll _have_ a future together, but the longer he looks at her, the more he realizes that he really, really wants to try.

 

"Okay." She accepts his words without questioning them, and he's deeply grateful for it because he doesn't think they're anywhere near ready to have _that_ discussion.

 

There's something else that he needs to know before he can give her an answer, though. "Can I ask you something, Bones?"

 

She seems taken aback. "Of course you can."

 

"Two years ago, you know, when I had that brain tumor – did you pay for my surgery?"

 

She hesitates, but only for a split second. "When did you find out?"

 

"Right now." He keeps his eyes on hers and is relieved when she holds his gaze without flinching. "I've been wondering for a while, though – I got the best doctor in town, state of the art treatment, and yet the medical bills _didn't_ bankrupt me. I always meant to ask you about it, but…" He falls silent, uncertain how to finish that sentence, but Bones does it for him.

 

"A lot has happened since then, and I can see how it would have made such a discussion difficult for both of us. Are you angry at me?"

 

"Angry at you? For saving my life?"

 

"For keeping this from you." There's something in her expression he can't decipher. "I wasn't sure whether you'd want to know. I'm also paying for my niece's treatment, but my brother and his wife don't know about it – I'm sure that Russ would feel obliged to object, but he could never afford the kind of treatment Hayley needs, so I told Amy that Dr. Goetz is a friend of mine and would treat her daughter for free." Upon noticing his surprised look, she admits, "That was a lie – I've met Dr. Goetz a few times, but I don't know him all that well; I just called him to tell him that I'd cover the costs for Hayley's treatment, and that he shouldn't tell her parents."

 

"Wow." Booth isn't quite sure what to make of this. "I never knew you could be so sneaky, Bones."

 

She shrugs. "It seemed like the best solution to me, and I don't think there's a better way to spend my money than to use it for keeping the people I love safe."

 

Booth's throat is suddenly dry, and he has to swallow a few times before he trusts his voice again. The word "love" has become something of a taboo between, and he still isn't sure if they'll ever find themselves in a place where they'll be comfortable using it outright – but looking at her now, he can't help thinking that perhaps they might not need to.

 

"I get that. And – thank you, Bones."

 

"You're welcome." She hesitates for a second, but then continues in a completely different tone, "It's a sign of the imbalance in our societal values that even though I'm the leading expert in my field, most of my wealth stems from the fact that people enjoy the fiction I write, while the dangers that come with your job are barely rewarded financially at all."

 

Booth shrugs. "It's just the way things are. Cops and squints don't get rich, but authors of bestselling books do, and you struck a gold mine with yours."

 

"Well, I had a little help in the beginning." He has no idea what to make of the look she gives him – it's playful, almost flirty, but there's something more serious underneath.

 

"You mean Angela's _suggestions_?"

 

Bones shakes her head. "Angela didn't start working with me until my third book, when my editors asked me to put more emphasis on the relationship between the main characters. I wasn't happy with the idea in the beginning and complained about it to Angela, she offered to help…"

 

"…and the rest is R-rated history," Booth finishes with a grin. "So who helped you with the first book?" His jaw drops when he notices the faint blush that's creeping up her cheeks. "No way, Bones! Are you saying you're finally ready to admit that Andy is me?"

 

"Andy isn't you, Booth," she reminds him calmly, although her face is still a little flushed. "I will, however, admit that I probably wouldn't have started writing that first book if it hadn't been for you – you were on my mind a lot after that case we solved together…"

 

"…so you came up with your own version of a brilliant anthropologist and a hot FBI guy chasing bad guys together?"

 

"Something like that, yes – I had never considered writing fiction before, but it seemed like the best way to turn my preoccupation into something constructive."

 

Booth makes a face. "So basically you invented Andy so you could _stop_ thinking of me."

 

"Maybe." There's a hint of smugness to her smile, but it quickly disappears when she continues. "What I'm trying to say is that I wouldn't be where I am today if it hadn't been for you – I've always prided myself on my independence, but I'm still aware of the fact that nobody can function completely on their own, without any influence from the people closest to them. I am still capable of living without you if I have to, but my life is better for having you in it."

 

She tightens her grip on his hand when he just stares at her, completely stunned. "This isn't about sharing my wealth, Booth – I would like to share my home with you, and although I understand your reservations, I hope that we can overcome them together."

 

Booth feels a little like he did when he first started reading that letter she sent him. Like then, he can only stand in awe of the never-ending surprise that is Temperance Brennan and marvel at the fact that she chose to share all those carefully hidden facets of her character with _him_ of all people. For the second time, she's the one who's taking a leap of faith, who is reaching out towards him even though there's no guarantee of the outcome and she might just be opening herself up to pain and heartbreak. He's suddenly determined to do everything in his power to make sure that it never, ever comes to that, that she'll never have to regret the moment when she decided to trust him with her heart, because no matter how messed up he is, he must not, _will_ not fail her.

 

If Bones can take a leap of faith, then so can he.

 

"Okay, but I'm still paying for my half of the bed."

 

She leans into his embrace, and her smile lights up her face in a way that makes him feel like his heart is suddenly too big for his chest. "That goes without saying."

 

+++

 

It's almost one in the morning when they finally make it to the bedroom, and although Booth is tired enough to collapse on the spot, the thought that they'll be going to bed together every night from now on leaves him with an almost tipsy feeling of elation. Bones, too, seems a little giddy in spite of her visible exhaustion, and Booth thinks it's a real pity that he'll likely be asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow because he'd love to be awake enough to celebrate properly.

 

"We'll have to tell everyone now, won't we?" Bones is fumbling with her shirt buttons and doesn't look at him, and Booth can't tell from the casual tone of her questions whether she's really okay with the idea or just trying to mask the fact that she isn't.

 

"I guess." He does his best to sound equally nonchalant, although he finds that he _is_ ready to stop being so damn secretive about their relationship. "Good thing you already prepared Hacker, isn't it?"

 

At that, she finally looks up from her buttons, and her smile seems genuine when she replies in a tone of deep satisfaction, "I told you I knew what I was doing."

 

"Never doubted it." It's not strictly true, but she accepts the assurance with a nod as she slips out of her shirt.

 

"Are we telling him before or after informing everyone at the lab?"

 

"Before," Booth answers immediately – this one's a no-brainer, because he knows only too well how fast the news will spread. "We can tell them right after, but I don't want to risk Hacker hearing it through the grapevine before we talk to him, and gossip travels faster than light with the squints."

 

"That's impossible," she reminds him earnestly, but Booth can see the sparkle in her eyes that tells him she's merely teasing. "Sound travels at no more than –"

 

He's beside her before she can launch into a lecture about the speed of light and cuts her off with a quick, close-mouthed kiss. "I'll take your word for it, Bones, but we're still telling Hacker first."

 

"Okay." She playfully undoes the button of his pants, but then backs off to wriggle out of her jeans while he finishes getting undressed. "Given what he told me last week, I don't think he'll do more than remind us we'll have to behave professionally while we're at work together."

 

"I don't think so either." Booth is aware that deep down he still feels it's too good to be true, but that's probably just because everything else has been so damn difficult for them that it seems downright strange when something goes right for a change. "We should probably brace ourselves for another round of partner therapy, but other than that, we'll be okay."

 

Bones seems to freeze for a split second, but it passes so quickly that he thinks he must have imagined it. "Would you mind resuming therapy?"

 

Booth shrugs. "I'm not crazy about Sweets nosing around in our private lives again, but I'll happily deal with it if it means we can be together without any further trouble from the FBI. Besides, we've been able to handle him before, I'm sure we can do it again."

 

They're both in their underwear now, and Booth steps up behind her and unhooks her bra for her. She lets the straps slide down her arms and then turns around, smiling a little at the way his eyes move down to her breasts.

 

"I thought you were tired."

 

"I am, I'm afraid." Booth kisses her again, enjoying the feeling of her nipples brushing against his chest. "I'm not _dead_ , though, so I'm still going to appreciate the view."

 

"Good to know." She seems about to say more, but it ends in a yawn. "I'm afraid I'm rather exhausted myself, but if you'd like, we can make up for it in the morning."

 

He returns her suggestive grin and slides his fingers under the waistband of her panties. "Is that your way of telling me not to bother with my PJs?"

 

She frowns a little. "You never wear more than boxers to bed anyway."

 

"Kidding, Bones." Booth leans in for another brief kiss before getting rid of his boxers and sliding under the covers. She switches off the lights and joins him after a few seconds, and Booth pulls her close and revels in the feeling of her warm, soft skin against his own. He loves these moments when they're naked together, even if he's too tired for anything else (it happens, he isn't twenty any more). There's something incredible intimate in the way she's willing to be with him with nothing between them, not to "satisfy biological urges" or something like that, but only for the sake of enjoying each other's closeness while they fall asleep curled up against each other. Maybe it means he's turning into a sap in his old age, but Booth finds that he honestly doesn't care.

 

Right now, he just wants to wrap his arms around her and drift off, but it isn't lost on him that Bones doesn't seem able to relax; she's tense as a bowstring under his touch when he tries running a soothing hand over her back, and her breath is coming far too fast for someone who's trying to sleep.

 

"Everything okay, Bones?"

 

She's quiet for a while, but at last she states firmly, "I don't want therapy with Sweets any more."

 

Booth considers reaching for the bedside lamp, but thinks better of it – he has found that Bones is usually more willing to be forthcoming about something that bothers her when he can't see her face in the darkness. "That sounds like you have a problem with Sweets, not just with psychology in general."

 

She takes a deep breath, and he's close enough to feel how her heartbeat speeds up. "It's just that…"

 

Booth props himself up on his elbow when she falls silent without finishing the sentence. "Bones, you're beginning to freak me out here. What's wrong? Has Sweets done something?"

 

She still doesn't answer, and he's really starting to worry now. "Look, just tell me about it. We can deal with whatever it is, but you need to be honest with me."

 

"You're going to be angry."

 

Booth hates the cautious tone in her voice – she has never let his anger stop her from saying or doing what she wanted before, and the thought that she might suddenly hesitate to speak her mind because she doesn't want him to get angry feels wrong on so many levels that he doesn't even want to think about it.

 

"Bones, whatever the reason is, I'm not going to get angry at you just because you don't want therapy any more!"

 

"I didn't mean at me." She sounds calmer now, and Booth is glad she seems to have gotten over her hesitation. "You're going to get angry at Sweets, and I know you like him."

 

"So? I've been angry at Sweets plenty of times before."

 

"Not like this." She seems very certain, and Booth realizes with mounting dread that whatever it is, it's going to be big.

 

"Temperance, _please_."

 

"Okay." She moves away a little, and even though Booth is tempted to reach out towards her, he knows to give her space when she needs it. "Three years ago, when you got shot and Sweets didn't tell me that you weren't dead…"

 

"Bones, we've talked about this." It isn't something he's keen to remember – the thought that she was able to brush off the matter like it was nothing has eaten at him for years, and she'll probably never know just how much it meant to finally hear her admit, during that evening after his father's funeral, that she _did_ grieve for him.

 

"Please let me finish." Her tone is steady – whatever it is, she clearly has made up her mind about it. "There's something I've kept from you, but it seems to me that you should know about it now, considering how much the status of our relationship has changed since it happened. Just – promise you won't do anything stupid concerning Sweets."

 

Booth goes very still. "Define _stupid_."

 

"Okay." She deliberates for a moment, then clarifies, "Promise you won't do anything to Sweets that could cost you your job."

 

"I promise." Booth answers quickly and without thinking; it won't do him any good to ponder the implication that she _does_ consider him capable of doing just that. "For God's sake, just tell me, it can't be worse than some of the things I'm imagining right now."

 

"Sweets claimed that he didn't inform me because he trusted that I could deal with your death thanks to my ability to compartmentalize. I know that I acted like I accepted his explanation, but I never believed it for a second, and I confronted him about it as soon as you were out of earshot."

 

"You wanted me to believe that you agreed with him? Why?" Booth has no idea what to think any more, and it seems that she notices because she inches closer again.

 

"In hindsight, I know I should have handled the matter differently, but I'd just been through two of the most difficult weeks of my life, and then everything that happened at your funeral – I was furious, Booth, furious and hurt, and I had no idea how to behave around you or how to interpret my own feelings where you were concerned. I –"

 

"Hey, it's okay." He reaches for her and is profoundly relieved when she closes the remaining distance between them and rests her head on his shoulder. "I get it, Bones."

 

He really does – after all, this is the woman who used to run whenever she was forced to deal with the fact that he'd made her feel, and given what she told him about the weeks after his "death", he understands only too well that she was barely holding it together back then. "So there's another reason that Sweets didn't tell you?"

 

She exhales slowly, and he feels her nod against his shoulder. "He wasn't able to deny it once I confronted him. I know an experiment when I see one, Booth, and that's exactly what it was – an experiment to study my reaction to your death, to witness firsthand how losing you would affect me. We had given him permission to observe us for the book he wanted to write, but there are aspects of our relationship that he wouldn't have been able to study under normal circumstances, so obviously he considered it a good opportunity to… dig deeper."

 

"Holy shit." Booth finds that he has trouble wrapping his mind around this revelation. He knows that Sweets has a tendency to overstep his boundaries, but to let Bones believe that she'd lost him just to see her reaction – _Jesus Christ_. He can feel a tight, hard knot of fury forming in his stomach, but there's more to it, an almost nauseating feeling of disgust and the sharp, bitter sting of betrayal. Bones is right, he does like Sweets, and over the past years he has almost begun to regard the kid as some kind of little brother, but it looks like he should have remembered his lifelong experience that little brothers can be real assholes sometimes.

 

"You promised." It seems that Bones understands only too well what's going on in his mind, and Booth does his best to pull himself together.

 

"I'm not going to beat him up, if that's what you're worrying about, but – God, Bones, I don't even know what to say."

 

"It's in the past, Booth," she reminds him calmly. "It can't be undone, and we've dealt with the consequences, even if it took us longer than it should have because I couldn't bring myself to tell you the truth, and I'm sorry about that. That's not the reason I told you about it now, though."

 

"You're afraid he'll do it again." Booth almost can't believe it took him so long to understand what this is really about. "You're worried that resuming therapy will give Sweets the chance to mess with us again, and that he might come up with something we can't deal with next time."

 

It takes her a long time to answer, as if she were weighing her words very carefully. "I think Sweets understands that what he did back then was unacceptable, but still – you have to admit that his influence on our personal lives hasn't always been beneficial."

 

 _You don't even know half of it, Bones_. Booth doesn't say it out loud, but he remembers all too clearly how Sweets waved a brain scan in his face and informed him that his love for Bones was basically the result of brain damage. He has never told her about it, and he's glad that he didn't, but she was there when Sweets did a 180 and challenged him to "be the gambler". It's his own fault that he was stupid enough to listen when he should have known better, but he can see how Bones would consider it another example of the painful results of Sweets' meddling.

 

Bones is quiet for a long time, and Booth wonders whether she's finally dozing off. There's no way he's going to sleep now – it's probably for the best because his thoughts are a whirling mess, and he doesn't even want to imagine the kind of dreams he might end up having. He takes a deep breath and tries to calm down; he'll need to decide upon a way to deal with this, and fretting isn't going to do him any good.

 

He has almost managed to get a grip when Bones raises her head and states matter-of-factly, "Angela says Sweets has a crush on you."

 

A split second later, she's blinking owlishly in the sudden light of the bedside lamp. Booth doesn't even remember reaching for it; he just stares at her as if he could still see her words hanging in the air between them.

 

" _What_?"

 

Bones sits up and drapes a sheet around her bare shoulders. "I dismissed the idea too when she first mentioned it, but after she explained to me what she meant, I can't help thinking that some of her arguments seem valid."

 

Booth wonders for a fleeting moment whether he has fallen asleep after all and is caught up in the middle of a bizarre dream, but unfortunately it sounds too much like something Angela _would_ say. "Bones, in case you've forgotten how we walked in on Sweets canoodling with his girlfriend, the guy is _straight_."

 

"I didn't mean to imply that his interest in you is sexually motivated," she answers calmly. "However, he seems very keen on being in close proximity to you – he almost always shows up when we're having lunch at the diner, he insists on being present when you're interrogating suspects, he offers to help with cases _and_ with personal matters without being asked first. It's obvious that your opinion is important to him, and that he wants you to approve of him and rely on him both in your professional and in your private life. Angela claims that he gets a kick out of your attention, so he does what he can to make you focus on him."

 

Booth can't help thinking that Angela has an awful lot to say on the matter, but he lets it pass. "You realize that I could just as easily claim that he has a crush on _you_."

 

She shakes her head. "I believe that when it comes to me, Sweets' interest is truly scientific, as far as psychology can be considered a science. I'm an interesting object to study and to analyze, but he doesn't seek my company or my personal validation like he seeks yours. With you, his interest is personal, and Angela thinks that his personal involvement means he's not objective any more."

 

"Bones, that's ridiculous – I mean, I consult with Sweets, and sometimes he helps with an interrogation, but he knows damn well that _you_ are my partner and that I'm always going to rely on you first."

 

"Exactly." She sounds like she has just proven a point, and it takes Booth a moment to get what she means.

 

"Wait – you're saying that Sweets is jealous of you because I trust you more than I trust him, and that he's somehow… trying to come between us because of that?"

 

"That's what Angela thinks." Bones gives him a strange look, as if she wants to check whether he's still buying that she's merely reporting Angela's theories. "She doesn't have all the facts about the things that happened between us last year, but Angela is very observant when it comes to interpersonal matters, and she told me that she believes Sweets is subconsciously trying to sabotage all your relationships to ensure his own status in your life. I told her that she has no evidence to substantiate such a generalization, because Sweets seemed very supportive of your relationship with Hannah, but she still insisted that she's right."

 

Booth bites his lower lip and thinks of all the times Sweets has needled him about Hannah, about going too fast or being certain and whatnot – in hindsight, it seems like some of the things he said back then were spot on, but _Angela's_ theory casts a new, and pretty disturbing light on these moments.

 

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable." Bones' expression is difficult to read, and Booth decides to put an end to this madness before he drives himself crazy thinking about it further.

 

"Okay, so there'll be no more therapy."

 

"You can't know that," she reminds him reasonably. "If Andrew decides to make us –"

 

"He won't." Booth does his best to sound certain, even though he's anything but; however, he _is_ certain that he'll find a way to keep Sweets out of their relationship. "Trust me, Bones – Sweets isn't going to come between us."

 

"I trust you." She moves closer as she says it, and before Booth knows what's happening, he finds himself flat on his back with Bones on top of him. He reaches for her, but she grabs his wrists and pins them to the mattress above his head, effectively trapping him underneath her. Her lips brush his ear when she whispers in a low, throaty tone that almost sounds like she's growling, "And he'd better not, because you're _mine_."

 

He stares into her eyes in the dim light of the bedside lamp and sees them narrow with a hungry, almost feral expression that he'd never have thought her capable of. "Mine," she whispers again, and the possessive tone sends a sharp spike of arousal through him that makes him forget he's pushing forty and exhausted as hell. She grinds her hips into his and grins when she feels him stir between them; once more she whispers _Mine_ , but this time it's against his lips, and Booth just manages to answer _Yours_ before her mouth is on his. He knows that it's true, that he might just as well have 'Property of Temperance Brennan' tattooed on his ass – because he could run away to the ends of the world, to war and into the arms of another woman, but it has always been her to whom all roads led back to.

 

She kisses him like she wants to devour him, and Booth wrenches his wrists out of her grasp and pulls her hips towards him. He feels rather than hears the moan deep in her throat; she's rocking into him until he can feel her wet and slippery against him, and it's his turn to moan when she draws herself up on her knees and then sinks down again, impaling herself on him in one single, flowing movement. He reaches up, pulling her close and flipping them over so that he's on top of her. She makes a low, content sound that reminds him of a purring cat – he once would have expected a woman like Bones to prefer being on top at all times, but by now he knows that one should never assume anything when it comes to Temperance Brennan.

 

He doesn't bother to brace himself on his elbows when he pushes into her. She once told him that she likes having him on top of her because it makes her feel like he's everywhere, like her whole world consists of nothing but him, and he keeps it in mind as he sets the hard, punishing rhythm she likes so much. She hooks her heels behind his calves and tilts her hips up to meet his thrusts, and Booth speeds up the pace and feels her tightening around him as her nails dig into his shoulders and her teeth scrape the side of his neck. They'll both have the marks to show for this moment tomorrow, but right now he doesn't care, doesn't even think of holding back as he thrusts into her, letting her feel his full weight, his full strength because she can take it, can take _him_.

 

She cries out his name when she comes, and the way her whole body clenches around him sends him straight over the edge as well in a single, blinding flash of white-hot pleasure. He collapses on top of her, so out of breath that his head is swimming, and barely manages to roll off her before his exhaustion catches up with him. She pulls the covers over them and reaches across the bed to switch off the bedside lamp, and Booth murmurs "Yours, Bones" against the skin of her shoulder once more before he finally gives in to the warm, welcoming darkness.

 

+++

 

"A little higher – whoa, not that much, Bones, it's supposed to be a right angle… there you go, and now hand me the screwdriver."

 

She waits until he has tightened the last screw before she lets go and takes a step back to inspect his handiwork. "It looks good to me."

 

"Course it does, I told you I know what I'm doing, didn't I?"

 

"I still prefer seeing it for myself," she reminds him with a hint of superiority in her tone, but then she gives him one of those smiles that always remind him of the sun peeking through the clouds on a rainy day – totally unexpected and all the more welcome because of it. "You were right, this is fun."

 

"Told ya." It's his turn to sound superior. "There are some things you should do with your own hands instead of paying some stranger to do them, and assembling your bed is definitely one of them."

 

She gives the finished bed frame another critical look before she nods. "I usually have little interest in menial tasks, but this is surprisingly satisfying – almost like reassembling a skeleton or reconstructing a skull."

 

Booth makes a face. "Please tell me you did not just compare our bed to a pile of bones."

 

 _Our_ bed. He still isn't used to the sound of it, even though he realizes that they've both been saying it a lot during the past few days.

 

"Why not? I like bones." She leans in to brush a quick kiss on his cheek, but Booth turns his head to capture her lips instead.

 

"Yeah, so do I."

 

Her forehead wrinkles in confusion. "You do? Then why did you just – ohhhh, I see." Her expression reminds him of the look on Parker's face when he has figured out a difficult math problem, and it's both incredibly cute and a little disturbing. "You were making a joke based on the double meaning of the word 'bones' because of your nickname for me. It's very amusing."

 

Booth gives her a look. "I guess it was until you analyzed it to death."

 

She merely grins, taking the jibe in the spirit it was meant. "What's next?"

 

"Now we try to get that monster of a mattress through the door."

 

"And then?" The sultry undertone in her question is unmistakable, but Booth shakes his head.

 

"Then we clear all the packaging away and make the apartment presentable for tonight, because _someone_ thought it was a good idea to throw a baby party for Angela in the middle of me moving in with you."

 

He knows by now not to call it a baby shower (she has informed him several times that baby showers are an outdated and sexist tradition founded in the belief that women's main function and interest in life his procreation) even though he doesn't really see the difference – they're having a party to celebrate the impending arrival of Angela's baby before she goes on official maternity leave, so they might just as well call a spade a spade.

 

Bones pouts a little. "Most of your belongings are still in storage, so it's not like we need to deal with them right now."

 

"No, but I'm still not breaking in our new bed with you when we're in a rush to prepare for an invasion from the entire Squint Squad." He can't help it, he has to lean in again to kiss that pout off her lips. "I promise, Bones, as soon as they're out the door tonight, we're going to christen it _properly_."

 

"I'll hold you to that," she concedes with a smirk. "Let's get the mattress."

 

Wrestling a king-sized mattress through Bones' narrow bedroom door proves to be even more of a challenge than Booth feared, and although he does his best not to let her notice, the fact that his back is starting to complain isn't lost on her.

 

"This kind of work isn't good for your intervertebral discs."

 

"I'll live." Booth gives the mattress one final shove and then leans against the wall to catch his breath. "Besides, according to you this thing is going to work miracles on my discs."

 

"I never said anything about miracles," she reminds him sternly. "I just made sure to choose the kind of mattress that would be most beneficial for your –"

 

"Hey, Bones, joking." He reaches for her and loosely wraps his arm around her waist for a moment. "I know you did, and I appreciate it."

 

He means it, even though he figures that he should have been embarrassed by the huge fuss she made at the store – it took them less than twenty minutes to pick their bed, but then Bones harassed the sales clerk for almost two hours until she found a mattress she was satisfied with. The guy took it in stride, though, and even told Booth how lucky he was to have a wife who cared so much about his well-being. She must have heard it, yet she didn't bother to correct the assumption, and Booth still feels his throat constrict with an emotion he can't quite identify whenever he thinks of it.

 

"I'm glad." She gnaws on her lower lip for a moment before she admits, "I'm still not sure if we shouldn't have given Parker a little warning before he comes to stay with you tomorrow."

 

"Hey, stop worrying about that." Booth pulls her closer and finds that reassuring her actually helps with his own nervousness about the matter. "Trust me, letting him find out that he now has a much nicer room _and_ a brand new bed that he gets to assemble himself is the perfect way to break the news to him. Besides, he likes you."

 

"And he loves my pool." She's finally smiling again, and Booth suddenly finds it easy to smile back.

 

"Yeah, there's always that."

 

+++

 

"Okay, that was the last of the cardboard." Booth closes the apartment door behind him and realizes belatedly that he's talking to an empty room; Bones has obviously finished cleaning the living area, because he can hear her rummaging around in the kitchen. There are only three hours left until her guests are supposed to arrive, so it's just as well that they start getting things ready.

 

"You need help in there, Bones?"

 

"Not right now, thank you," she yells back, sounding ever so slightly stressed out. "Can you get the big throw from the bedroom and put it over your recliner?"

 

"Yeah, sure." It seems a bit strange to hide the only obvious sign of his presence in her apartment, given that they're planning to tell everyone tonight, but Bones is right – Angela would probably notice right away, and they want to make the announcement themselves instead of having her stumbling over the evidence.

 

Booth's beloved old leather recliner disappears under the colorful, ethnic-looking throw, thus making sure it no longer stands out like a sore thumb next to Bones' elegant couch and armchairs. His old apartment had come mostly furnished; the only pieces of furniture he actually owned besides the recliner were his threadbare couch and the bed. There wasn't much point in taking in the couch with him (it was lumpy and hell on his back whenever he fell asleep on it), and there's no way he would have brought the bed to Bones' apartment – there are far too many memories attached to it, most of which he's desperate to leave behind.

 

They put most of his other stuff in storage for the time being; it will take some effort to find room for all of it, and although Bones tells him she's looking forward to "merging their styles" (as she called it), she agreed that turning her guestroom into a room for Parker took priority. In a way, it seems like he's making his way into her apartment one room at a time – the bedroom is "theirs" already with the new bed and his clothes in her walk-in closet; tomorrow, they'll assemble Parker's bed with him and help him settle into his new room. The living area will still have to wait a little, which seems fitting somehow considering that it's the most visible part of her – _their_ – apartment; he has learned the hard way that it's never a good idea to start with the surface.

 

With a sigh, Booth takes a step back and surveys the room once more. It doesn't feel like home yet, but then, he hasn't truly felt at home in his old apartment either since he came back from Afghanistan. In hindsight, the time with Hannah was more like a vacation from reality than the beginning of a new life, and after she left, the place was much too crowded with memories and shattered illusions to ever feel like a real home again. It doesn't bother him all that much – he has moved a lot in his lifetime, and the only place he ever truly got attached to was Pops' old house back in Philly. Still, it's a little strange to find himself in this in-between stage – not quite out of his old life yet, not quite settled into the new one, but he figures that he'll get there eventually.

 

Seeing his own things all over Bones' apartment will probably help with that, too, although packing up his belongings has made him realize that it may be time to let go of some of the stuff because it doesn't feel like _him_ any longer – as if he has outgrown the part of his personality that was attached to all those remnants of a time that's irrevocably past. Booth figures he'll go through all of it with Parker once they have time – Parker will likely want some of it for his room, and then he can decide what's worth keeping for himself.

 

Bones' voice from the kitchen snaps him out of his musings. "Booth, I could use some help with the vegetables now."

 

"I bet." He makes a face when he steps into the kitchen and sees her up to her elbows in greenery. "Bones, you know we're expecting our co-workers for dinner, not a pack of rabbits, right?"

 

"Rabbits don't live in packs," she corrects automatically, and even though she rolls her eyes at him, he can see the amusement underneath. "And I'll put meat into one of the casseroles, so stop complaining. Can you peel the potatoes and cut them in slices?"

 

"Sure." For a while, they're peeling and chopping in comfortable silence; then Bones says without looking up from the carrots she's dicing with surgical precision, "I think Parker may have noticed the changed status of your relationship."

 

Booth isn't overly surprised; Parker is a bright kid, and he's bound to notice how often Bones has spent time with them during his 'Dad' weekends lately. "Did he say something?"

 

"Not directly." She puts the carrot cubes aside and reaches for the red peppers. "He asked me if he could still call me Bones."

 

"What did you say?"

 

"I told him that even though Bones is _your_ nickname for me, I've come to consider it a patrilineal privilege."

 

Booth snorts. "I'm sure _that_ answer was helpful to him."

 

She gives him a quick wink. "Which is why I didn't quite word it that way."

 

Booth shakes his head at his own gullibility; he really should know better by now, but somehow he keeps walking into these little traps she likes to set for him. "So you told him you're okay with him calling you Bones because I do too?"

 

"That was the gist of it, yes." Her expression softens. "I've always liked the fact that it's a moniker only you get to use, but it feels – right somehow that your son should have that right too."

 

Booth merely smiles and nods before he turns his attention back to the potatoes. One day, he might tell her how much it means to him that she's willing to be 'Bones' only for him (and by extension, his kid) – he has called her 'Temperance' a few times, and sometimes there's a whispered 'baby' during a particularly heated moment, but overall, he's more than happy with the knowledge that she'll always be 'Bones' to him. She has never offered to call him by his given name, and Booth is sure he'll never ask her to – not only because he isn't overly fond of 'Seeley', but also because he likes the fact that Bones is the only woman who has ever moaned his _last_ name in bed. They may finally have made it across that fateful line and into uncharted territory together, but they're still themselves, and Booth can't help finding it reassuring.

 

+++

 

"I'll need a crane to lift me out of this chair." Angela leans back in her seat with a groan and pats her protruding belly. "Thank you so much for dinner, Bren, it was fantastic – and for the presents, guys, you're all incredibly sweet."

 

The table in front of Angela and a beaming Hodgins is heaped with baby paraphernalia; now that the food has been eaten and the presents have been unwrapped, an air of blissful exhaustion is beginning to settle over the group around the dining table.

 

Bones gives Booth a quick glance from across the table where she's sitting next to Angela. They agreed beforehand to wait until everyone is ready to leave before they break the news to them – both because they didn't want to monopolize what was supposed to be Angela's party, and because neither of them was keen on being bombarded with intrusive questions the entire evening. What they didn't really plan was the actual way in which they want to tell everyone, and now that it seems to be time, Booth has no idea what Bones expects him to do. Should he say something, or should he leave it to her to make an announcement?

 

He's still deliberating when Sweets, who is sitting beside him, unwittingly gives him an opening. "Guys, I guess I'd better get going; Daisy wants me to go jogging with her at some ungodly hour of the morning tomorrow. Booth, your apartment is on my way home, would you like to share a cab?"

 

Booth makes sure to catch Bones' eye for a second before he answers nonchalantly, "Nah, I'm good."

 

Sweets' eyebrows shoot up. "You've had a couple of beers and at least two glasses of wine, you really shouldn't drive!"

 

Booth makes a face. "Thanks, Mom, but my bed is close enough to get there under my own steam."

 

Sweets seems confused, but out of the corner of his eye, Booth sees Angela's head whip around. "What did you just say?"

 

When Booth merely gives her an innocent look, she pushes her chair back and, despite all earlier claims to the contrary, is on her feet in no time at all. "Sweetie, please excuse me for a sec…"

 

Hodgins watches in total bewilderment as his wife disappears through the door that leads to Bones' bedroom. "Angie, I believe the guest bathroom is through the other –"

 

"Never mind, Dr. Hodgins," Bones cuts him off. "Angela is my best friend, she's free to go wherever she wants in my apartment."

 

By now, everyone has noticed that something is going on; all eyes are on the open bedroom door, through which Angela's heavy footsteps and the sounds of other doors opening and closing drift into the dining area. _Master bathroom_ , Booth thinks, _and that was the sliding door to the closet – and now she's back by the bed and going through the stuff on the nightstand._

 

A moment later, Angela reappears, her expression radiating indignation and her hand clutched around a small metal object.

 

"Okay, Bren, what the hell is going on here?" She walks back towards the dining table, and even though her waddling gait doesn't exactly come across as threatening, Booth feels the irrational urge to shrink back. "There's a new, _huge_ bed in your bedroom, a ton of guy stuff all over your bathroom, you've got a dozen suits and three dozen ties in your closet, and _this_ was on your nightstand!"

 

She turns to face Booth and, raising her hand, brandishes his 'Cocky' belt buckle for everyone to see. " _You live here_ , you son of a bitch!"

 

The room goes completely quiet at that; everyone's glances alternate between Booth's poker face and Bones' carefully neutral expression. At long last, Bones is the one to break the silence. "Booth, what do you say? It seems that Angela has extensive forensic evidence to back up her hypothesis."

 

"From what I can see, it's all circumstantial," Booth deadpans, determined to keep the ball in her court.

 

"That may well be," she admits, and now she's on her feet and making her way around the table, "but I guess that under the circumstances, Caroline would recommend a full confession in exchange for a reduced sentence because a guilty verdict is highly likely."

 

She's standing next to him now, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, and before Booth knows what's happening she's sitting on his lap with her arms around him and her head nestled in the crook of his shoulder. "Angela, Booth and I are – "

 

That's as far as she gets before Angela's shriek cuts her off, and in the next second, all hell breaks loose. Booth almost gets squashed when Angela tackles Bones before Bones has a chance to get off his lap; it's hugs and well-wishes and "about damn time" exclamations all around until Booth feels caught in the eye of a highly localized, squinty hurricane. Through the commotion, Sweets keeps trying to get his attention, and it isn't lost on Booth how Bones backs away a little when the psychologist approaches them.

 

"Booth, I..."

 

"Leave him to me, okay?" Booth gives her a gentle push that propels her into Cam and Hodgins; then he wraps an arm around Sweets' shoulders and pulls him aside. "Sweets, you've got a moment?"

 

"Yes, of course." Sweets is almost falling over himself with obvious eagerness, and before _that_ talk with Bones, Booth would probably have found it a little endearing. "Booth, I'm really, really happy for you and Dr. Brennan, but if there's anything you'd like to talk about –"

 

"There is, actually." Booth keeps his voice low and even, although it means he has to stand very close to Sweets to make himself heard over the racket the others keep making. He notices the look of dawning comprehension Angela gives him and quickly turns his back to her, effectively shielding his conversation with Sweets from her eyes.

 

"You see, yesterday Bones and I went to inform Deputy Director Hacker of the change in our relationship, and Hacker will let us work together as long as you, in your capacity as the FBI psychologist assigned to us, don't think that our personal relationship is getting in the way of our professional partnership. Therefore –"

 

"I totally understand," Sweets cuts him off, "and I'll be more than happy to resume our therapy sessions to make sure…"

 

Booth tightens his arm around Sweets' shoulders – just a little to get the kid's attention. "No, I don't think you understand, so I'm going to spell it out for you." He allows a hint of steel to slip into his voice, just enough to make it clear that he's dead serious about what he's going to say. "There'll be no more therapy, no more trying to give us unsolicited shrinky advice, and whenever Hacker or anyone else at the FBI wants your professional opinion on our partnership, you'll tell them that we're doing just fine. If we need your help, we'll ask for it, but if we don't, you back off, and if you ever try to mess with our relationship or have us split up professionally, you'll be out of a job and of a license because I'll go straight to Hacker and tell him how you experimented on Bones by letting her think I was dead three years ago. Do I make myself clear, Sweets?"

 

He finally lets go of Sweets' shoulders and watches him take a quick step back with an expression that's somewhere between hurt and shocked. Booth resolutely suppresses the nagging feeling of guilt in the pit of his stomach; he doesn't enjoy being hard on Sweets because he genuinely likes the kid, but Bones comes first, and for the sake of their relationship there has to be a line that Sweets won't dare to cross.

 

He has to give it to the kid, though – he's got balls, because even though it's obvious that there's nothing he can do, he draws himself up to his full height, emphasizing the one or two inches he has on Booth, and states in his most professional tone, "Agent Booth, I don't like being blackmailed."

 

Booth turns his head to check on Bones who's surreptitiously watching him and Sweets while she appears to be listening to Angela's excited chatter, and despite the seriousness of the moment, he suddenly can't help grinning at the six year-old memory that Sweets' words have brought back.

 

He claps the kid on the shoulder once more and, his eyes still on Bones', declares cheerfully, "I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to."

 

+++

 

"You ready to face the Angelic Inquisition on Monday?"

 

Bones is busy loading plates into the dishwasher and doesn't turn around, but Booth can hear her frown in the tone of her answer. "I don't know what that means."

 

"I mean that unless she goes into labor over the weekend, she'll start pumping you for sordid details the moment you walk through the doors of the lab." He can't say he's thrilled about the prospect, but he knows that it's something he'll have to live with – nosy BFFs are the price every guy pays for having a woman in his life.

 

Bones straightens and glances at the clock on the kitchen wall. "It's not going to take that long – she and Hodgins left half an hour ago, so I estimate I have another ten to fifteen minutes before she has a chance to call me from a location where Hodgins can't overhear the conversation."

 

"Great." Booth tries not to dwell on it and holds up a half-empty salad bowl. "You want me to put that in the fridge, or should I find a vase?"

 

She shoots him a look. "Your constant jokes about vegetarian food don't change the fact that your preferred diet is going to cause you serious health problems in the long run."

 

"Hey, you've fed me more green stuff in the last two months than I've eaten during my entire childhood, so cut me some slack."

 

Her answer is cut off by the sound of her cell phone ringing on the coffee table. Bones seems startled for a moment; then, almost hesitatingly, she indicates the mess that surrounds them in the kitchen. "Do you mind if I just – "

 

"Looks like she got home faster than you thought." Booth takes her by the shoulders and shoos her out of the kitchen. "Go talk to her, I can finish cleaning up."

 

"Come join me when you're done." She brushes a quick kiss on his cheek and then makes a dash for her phone – probably to get the juiciest details covered before he's around to overhear them.

 

With that in mind, Booth takes his time clearing away the rest of the dishes and the uneaten food. He does his best not to listen to the snippets of conversation drifting over from the couch; whatever Bones is telling Angela to make up for keeping the news from her until tonight, he's pretty sure he doesn't want to know about it.

 

Still, he isn't planning to hide in the kitchen until the girl talk is over; once he's done cleaning up, he walks out into the living area, although he makes as much noise as possible so that Bones won't think he's sneaking up on her. She's sitting on the sofa with her knees drawn up to her chest and seems to be listening to some kind of lecture from Angela, because she keeps smiling and nodding without actually saying anything.

 

She gives him a little wave when she notices him; Booth gestures towards the bedroom, indicating that he's going to wait for her there, but she shakes her head and gives the empty space next to her on the sofa an inviting pat. When he hesitates, she raises her hand to wave him over; as soon as he's within reach, she grabs his arm, pulls him towards her and snuggles up to him once he's sitting next to her.

 

It's one of those moment when breathing becomes difficult because his throat suddenly seems to constrict; Booth wraps his arm around her shoulders and hopes it's enough to express how much he appreciates the gesture. Bones is giggling at something Angela is saying, and he can feel the vibration of her laughter against his chest. The sound of Angela's excited chatter on the other end of the line is loud enough even for him to hear, although he can't quite understand what she's saying.

 

Booth can't help thinking that doing all the talking yourself is a pretty crappy interrogation technique (not that he's going to mention that to Angela), because it takes a while until Bones gets another word in.

 

"I'm going to keep that in mind. We should finish now – it's past midnight, and I'd like to go to bed."

 

Booth winces a little – it's not hard to imagine what kind of answer Angela will have to _that_ , and sure enough, Bones starts giggling again. "Ange, not everything in life is about sex! I was trying to – yes, I know, but… Ange, I've said it before, I'm not going to share that kind of information!"

 

Her brow furrows when she listens to Angela's reply. "I'm pretty sure there's no such thing as a 'girl code' in our legal system. I'm – what do you mean, a number? What kind of…" The sound of Angela's high-speed nattering is becoming louder, and Bones listens with the dirtiest smirk on her face Booth has ever seen from her.

 

"Okay," she relents at last, "given those parameters, I'd say fourteen – maybe fourteen and a half."

 

Angela's answering squeal is so loud that Bones yanks the cell phone away from her ear with a pained grimace; she shouts a quick "Good night, Ange!" from a safe distance and then ends the call.

 

Booth isn't sure whether he hopes or fears that her words meant exactly what he thinks they did. "Bones, did Angela just make you rate my… performance on a scale from 1 to 15?" He realizes belatedly that he just asked for a kick in his ego by assuming that it wasn't 1 to 20 – but then, he reasons, Angela's reaction probably wouldn't have been _that_ enthusiastic.

 

Bones gives him a smug little smile that has just the teensiest hint of uncertainty to it. "No, on a scale from 1 to 10. Do you mind? I know you're private, but –"

 

"Bones," he cuts her off with a laugh, "I doubt any guy in the world would mind his girlfriend bragging about his bedroom skills." He can feel the heat rising in his cheeks, but damn, he's not going to feel embarrassed about _this_ , no matter how many knowing winks Angela will give him the next time she sees him.

 

"I wasn't bragging!" she protests. "Bragging means unrealistic exaggeration in order to over-emphasize a specific skill or achievement and create unjustified envy, while I merely used hyperbole as a rhetoric device to convey a realistic assessment."

 

Booth can't help it, he has to pull her close and kiss her. "You know, I could definitely get used to you stroking my ego."

 

"I was doing no such thing," she points out with a grin, "I was only telling the truth."

 

"Okay, then thanks for telling only the flattering bits of the truth." He keeps his tone light, but she still understands, because she becomes serious.

 

"What's between us is ours, Booth – I haven't forgotten that."

 

"I know." They're both silent for a moment; then Booth decides they've tackled enough loaded topics for the night. "You do remember that we still have a bed to christen?"

 

"Of course I do," she replies with a smirk, "although I don't see what a Christian ritual would have to do with us having sex in our new bed, considering the general attitude –"

 

"Whoa, no spoiling the mood now!" Booth leans in and gives her an exaggerated leer. "Come on, baby, I've got a fourteen-and-a-half rating to maintain."

 

She nods solemnly, although her eyes are sparkling with mirth. "I guess it would be irresponsible of me not to support you in such a –" Her words end in a surprised shriek when Booth jumps to his feet and lifts her bodily off the couch.

 

"Booth, put me down this instant, you're going to throw out your back!" In spite of her protests, she doesn't struggle – on the contrary, she wraps her arms around his neck and holds on, and her laughter in his ear is enough to make him forget that he may very well regret this little stunt tomorrow.

 

As he carries her off to the bedroom, he declares with the cockiest grin he can muster, "You know what, Bones? Let's aim for fifteen tonight."

 

+++

 

Booth feels the shift in the mood the moment he steps into the bedroom with her. Bones draws in a sharp breath and stiffens in his arms; he puts her down quickly, and although she keeps her arms around his neck, she turns her face away and refuses to look at him.

 

He's standing frozen, stunned by his own stupidity. He should have expected the other shoe to drop, should have known better than to believe that anything could ever be this easy for them – Hacker, the squints, Sweets, it all went without a hitch, and he has only himself to blame that he was foolish enough to let his guard down and allow himself to be lulled into a false sense of security. He scared her away once when he asked too much of her, yet here he is, carrying her over the threshold like a blushing bride in a movie from the Forties without thinking of how it must come across to her.

 

 _Please promise me that you won't let me ruin us._

 

It's the memory of her words to him on the bench by the Reflecting Pool that snaps him out of his stupor, and he draws in a deep breath and tries to rein in his racing thoughts. Whatever happens, and no matter how badly he just screwed up, he's not going to let himself break his promise to her.

 

"Bones." He keeps his voice even, hoping against hope she won't notice that his heart is suddenly in his throat. "Are you still afraid that… that it's all going to go horribly wrong somehow?"

 

She moves closer and hides her face in the crook of his neck, and Booth feels her tremble when she whispers against his skin, "Terrified."

 

He pulls her into his arms and feels the fear he has managed to ignore for a while settle like a familiar weight on his shoulders. "Glad it's not just me."

 

Her arms tighten around his neck; he presses his face into her hair and just breathes her in as she clings to him, neither of them moving or making a sound.

 

At long last, it's Bones who breaks the silence. She seems close to tears when she lifts her head, but she holds his gaze without flinching, and her expression is open and heartbreakingly hopeful when she says, "Perhaps – perhaps that's going to make it easier, being afraid together? Like it did for Jared and you?"

 

It takes Booth a moment to understand what she's talking about, to remember snippets of the drunken conversation he had with her that night after they identified his father's bones. He has often regretted telling her all those stories from a past that's best left alone, but now he's suddenly grateful that she was there to listen, to understand, and to hold on to what he shared with her that night.

 

Booth looks at her and realizes that he has never told her he loves her, and that he's not sure if he ever will. He remembers a time when he was certain that he knew what it meant to love a woman – it was so easy with Rebecca for a while, and sometimes he still gets tiny flickers of something that used to be there when he sees her these days. It seemed easier still with Hannah, although the way it fell apart left him disoriented and uncertain of himself as if he'd woken up from a beautiful dream to a reality in which he could no longer trust his own feelings. Bones is different – she doesn't fit any concept, defies every belief he has held throughout his life, and every declaration he could make sounds empty and meaningless when it comes to her. Whatever he once thought he knew of love, it doesn't apply to her – she isn't any of his dreams come true, she just _is_.

 

He realizes that she's still waiting for him to answer, but he can't think of anything to say; he just gives her a smile and sees it reflected in her face.

 

"Booth?" She hesitates, as if it took all her courage to say what's on her mind, but finally she asks, "Do you still have faith?"

 

 _God doesn't always answer your prayers by giving you what you prayed for_. It's what his mother used to say whenever he asked her why God hadn't listened when he'd asked Him for something; it wasn't much consolation to him as a child, and later he used to think that it had been her way of holding on to her own faith in spite of everything life had thrown at her, but now it seems to him that for the first time, he understands what Mom might have been trying to tell him.

 

 _Do you still have faith?_ He looks at her and realizes there's only one answer he can give her – he'll probably never get to say those words to her in a different context, and even though it's not what he would have chosen if the choice had been his, somehow this is okay too. They're not supposed to be said _after_ you've carried the woman you want to spend your life with into your bedroom, either, but somehow the two of them have always done everything backwards, so perhaps this is exactly how it's meant to happen for them.

 

Bones has tears in her eyes now, but she's smiling through them, and Booth rests his forehead against hers and whispers, "I do."

 

 

 

 

 

FIN


End file.
